


Dog Sitter

by greenfairy13



Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Everyone is alive because I said so, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Slow Burn, cracky elements
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-16
Updated: 2019-07-15
Packaged: 2019-11-19 12:46:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 47,954
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18135944
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/greenfairy13/pseuds/greenfairy13
Summary: When Oswald loses Ed the dog, Jim Gordon finds his pet. Turns out, Jim did a splendid job when taking care of him. Naturally, Oswald decides Jim should take care of the pet whenever he has to leave the town.





	1. Prologue - Lost and Found

**Author's Note:**

> I'm playing fast and loose with canon in this one. I wrote this very quickly and mainly because I need some fluff. I hope you'll like it.

“You did _what_?!”

Oswald Cobblepot’s high-pitched voice cuts through the silence like a knife. He’s standing in the middle of the Iceberg Lounge, exactly where its centerpiece - a frozen Edward Nygma - once used to be, a quivering employee kneeling at his feet.

If the situation wouldn’t be so serious it would almost be amusing. Once again, the Penguin finds himself in the situation of shouting frantically for his Edward to be returned to him immediately. Once again, he’s worried sick, half out of his mind from fear for his best friend in the world.

A twisted sense déjà vu creeps up Oswald’s spine as he’s losing his patience. His composure is - even on good days - at best tenuous. And today is decidedly not a good day.

The young man in front of him is shaking like a leaf on a stormy day, expecting imminent death.

“Where exactly did you see him last?” Grabbing the young man’s lapels forcefully, the kingpin starts shaking his subordinate like a ragdoll, doing an impressive imitation of the good Captain Gordon in the process.

“I...I...I don’t know,” the thin boy stammers out, brown eyes darting across the room pleadingly. “I only turned around for a second and then he was gone.”

“You had one duty!” the crime lord hollers, right hand already tightening around the kid’s throat. “And you failed me!” he screeches, slamming the lad’s face against the counter.

“How hard can it be to keep an eye on my dyspneic, short-legged, docile friend!” he screams, slapping the useless fool forcefully.

“It’s mating season for badgers and foxes,” Zsasz supplies unhelpfully from the door. “Makes the little fellows go crazy,” he adds, an evil little smile playing around his lips as he approaches his boss and the unfortunate child sprawled out over the counter.

“He could also have been kidnapped,” Butch chimes in, entering the room one step behind the bald-headed assassin.

“Mr. Cobblepot, Oswald, Mr. Penguin, Sir!” the boy screams frantically. “Please! It was only a dog, I’m sure…”

The boy has no chance of finishing his sentence before the King of Gotham knocks him out cold.

“Zsasz,” the Penguin snarls, wiping a drop of blood from his paper-white cheek, “Show Michael to the door and make sure he never finds a job in Gotham again.”

Turning on his heel he leaves it to Butch to clean up the blood. Flopping down on a sofa in his private rooms, he starts chewing his fingernails frantically.

It’s happening all over again. Once again, he’s losing what’s most important to him. Once again, he has failed to keep a cherished being safe and sound. The Penguin might be able to build an empire from the ashes time and time again, but when it comes to protecting his beloved ones, he’s utterly useless.

It doesn’t matter that his entire army of hired muscle, goons and thugs combs through the city in search for Edward. He’s already sure they’ll come back empty-handed or worse: with only a bloody collar.

And what if Butch had been right? What if Edward had been kidnapped for ransom? Or for more devious plans? His empire might be in danger again. What if, whoever has Edward, threatens to torture him? And who would be as barbarous as to torture a dog?

Oswald starts hyperventilating as his mind conjures one horrible scenario after another in which his dog is being held captive in a cold, dark room without food or water. In the more favorable settings, Ed is roaming the streets of Gotham, confused and scared while being hunted by dog-catchers.

With trembling fingers, he picks up his phone and starts calling each and every dog shelter in Gotham himself. He’s describing Ed over and over again, trying to be thorough and objective and failing miserably. When calling the seventh shelter he already sounds like a raging lunatic and can’t even blame the lady on the other end of the line for hanging up on him.

Needless to say, he doesn’t get much sleep that night. He misses his furry friend deeply as he twists and turns in his empty bed, unable to close his eyes. Edward had always been there for him.

Whenever Oswald would feel sad or agitated, the little guy would shuffle closer, nudge him with his cold nose and draw his attention towards him. Whenever he would get a cramp in his bad leg, he would lay down on it and keep it warm until the pain became bearable again.

In the morning, he would wake him up and force him to get out of bed, uncaring how bad his previous day might have been. During meetings, Ed would lay at his feet, keeping him grounded and preventing him from leashing out. Ed doesn’t like it when Oswald is shouting.

And now the only true friend he ever had is gone too. Just like his parents. Just like his boy Martin. Everyone always seems to leave Oswald or is being ripped forcibly from him. 

Curling in on himself, the crime lord cries himself to sleep. He should have killed that stupid kid for daring to tell him Ed was only a dog when in fact he was so much more.

 

Despite offering a tremendous reward, it takes his men an entire week before relocating his beloved pet. And to his utter surprise, it’s Gabe - stupid, thickheaded, recently revived Gabe - of all people, who makes the breakthrough.

“And you are sure it’s not another imposter?” Oswald demands to know carefully. After the reward managing to attract all kinds of scammers taking complete collections of bulldogs to his home, the kingpin has become wary and doesn’t try getting his hopes up too high. 

“There’s a website for people who found all kinds of pets,” Gabe elaborates proudly while pushing a tablet into his employer's impatient hands. “See, there,” he carries on while showing the Penguin various photos of a dog that is without a single doubt Edward.

For a moment, the Penguin is rendered speechless and immobile from joy.

Ed looks healthy on every single picture. He can’t make out any injuries, his fur is clean and he’s lying on a seemingly comfortable, yet cheap, pillow. On another picture, he’s playing with a ball on a lawn, looking happy and relaxed.

Whoever has found his dog, must have taken good care of him. Oswald vows to pay the reward even if the person in possession of his Ed obviously has no idea about it.

When checking the date on which the ad had been placed, the crime lord groans in frustration. He could have found Ed not even five hours after losing him had he just discovered this webpage earlier.

Snapping out of his stupor, he turns towards Gabe. The man is still hovering above him, a goofy grin plastered all over his face.

 

“What are you still doing here?” Oswald grumbles. “Go fetch my dog!” he adds, already reaching for his cane. It’s the one made of ebony, decorated with a penguin’s head and one his least threatening looking devices - just in case the lucky finder is a nice, elderly lady.

From the corner of his eye, the mobster can see his thug’s smile fading and his shoulders slumping slightly. An uneasiness creeps into the once self-pleased posture when Gabe takes the tablet from him again. The man starts fidgeting with his collar as he looks over his shoulder at Zsasz who, to Oswald’s endless displeasure, looks incredibly amused. 

“What?” he grumbles, looking at his men. “Gabe, I swear, if we aren’t on our merry way to retrieve Ed in five minutes, I won’t hesitate to stab you 48 times again!” he growls menacingly, meaning each and every word.

After all, killing your staff isn’t a big deal in Gotham. Once you get sentimental, there’s always a possibility for revival. Well, if the person in question has been bad enough during his lifetime. For whatever reason, it doesn’t seem to work on the pure and innocent.

Arching his eyebrow expectantly he waits for Gabe and Zsasz to jump action, yet neither of them seems able or willing to move.

Finally, Zsasz clears his throat only to reveal with barely masked glee, “your dog has been found by the good Captain of the GCPD.” The Hitman then grins wickedly when what little color Oswald possess drains from his already pale face.

Barely withholding a crude curse, Oswald rises from his seat. Of all people in Gotham, it had to be Jim Gordon who found Ed.

Who else indeed, the kingpin thinks, almost chuckling hysterically when processing the news. It seems, there’s one cosmic joke the mob boss isn’t in on. However hard he tries staying away from the unruly detective, some kind of wicked karma forces him back on the other man’s path and vice-versa. 

But here goes nothing. Retrieving Ed and taking him to safety is his first priority - even if it means dealing with James Gordon all over again.

  
  



	2. Gimme Back What's Mine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jim is anything but thrilled about returning Ed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had a lot of fun writing this. I hope you have fun reading it :-)

When the Penguin enters the GCPD, all heads turn. Which is to be expected when Gotham’s most feared criminal mastermind, a sadistic assassin, as well as two men who came back from the grave, pay a courtesy visit.

The kingpin puts on a polite yet tight smile. He can’t wait for being finally reunited with his Ed.

For sure, his poor friend is being locked up in Gordon’s tiny, filthy rathole the Captain calls an apartment, all alone the entire day. He can’t even imagine what his furry companion must have endured during their week apart.

Oswald doubts Gordon bothers to feed him anything else than lousy canned food and for sure doesn’t change his water more often than once a day - if he changed Ed’s water at all since finding him that is. The kingpin vows to visit the vet the second Ed is back in his arms where he belongs.

“Where’s Gordon?” the Penguin barks at last when the fine police force of his beloved city continues gaping wordlessly at him.

“Penguin,” Bullock answers from the back of the room, slowly rising from his seat. The man hasn’t changed at all since their first encounter back at Fish Mooney’s club. His clothing is still rumpled and his hair still greasy. On top of all that, he’s got no manners. Oswald can hardly mask his disdain for the cop.

“What’s your beef with him this time?” he asks back, eyes narrowing at the illustrious assembly of gangsters. With a gesture of his hand, he orders the other cops to stay put, probably being painfully aware of the fact that any form of resistance will have terrible consequences.

“Oh, I can assure you, good detective,” Penguin responds innocently, “I have no dispute with our honorable Captain of the GCPD at all. When limping closer, the smile fades from the Penguin’s face, revealing his icy, emotionless eyes in the process. “That is if my property is being returned to me unscathed of course,” he hisses determinedly.

Bullock’s hand drops to his side as he stares at the criminal’s thin form in obvious confusion, mentally for sure going through all recent police investigations.

“And what should that property be?” he asks when returning empty-handed from his musings.

“My Edward of course!” the smaller man bursts out, eyes blazing furiously. “Gordon is keeping him from me despite knowing full well I’ve been looking for him the entire week!”

Oswald doesn’t care he’s shouting in the middle of the GCPD or losing his composure in front of an audience. After all, this is Ed they are talking about and not some mundane business matter. Besides, Jim must have known Oswald had been looking for his dog! For sure he must have checked websites about people looking for their lost pets. After finding out it had been him to lose his Ed, he must have marveled at his misfortune, glee increasing day by day over Oswald’s tremendous pain.

“Nygma?” Bullock retorts incredulously. “We haven’t seen Nygma for months. Neither me nor Jim. He’s still wanted for robbing a couple of banks,” he elaborates. “This time, you came to shout at the wrong dudes, Penguin.”

“I don’t mean that idiotic imbecile of a wannabe bank robber!” Oswald snarls, almost tripping when stomping his foot to underline his words. “I mean my dog - Edward! An English Bulldog. Gordon found it a week ago and refuses to return him to me!”

Harvey’s entire face drops. “Whoa, whoa, whoa - wait a minute.” Holding up his hands placatingly, the detective tries to soothe the fuming kingpin.

“Do you mean Chester?” he inquires in bewilderment. “The dog Jim found a week ago in Gotham Central during his lunch break? Cause he checked “lostpets.com” every day to see if anyone reported a missing bulldog. Nobody seemed to mind until you came storming in here, screaming your lungs out.”

Spinning on his good heel, Oswald faces Gabe. “What is he talking about?!” he roars. “Didn’t  you place an ad on that page too?”

In a matter of seconds, Gabe first flushes beet-red before his face turns positively ashen. After opening and closing his mouth wordlessly a couple of times, he whips out his smartphone and checks the page.

“Boss,” he starts tentatively. “I might have forgotten to hit the “send” button,” he admits carefully. If possible, Oswald would explode on the spot but before dying from embarrassment. Yet, a thing Bullock said gives him pause.

“Did you say Gordon named my dog Chester?” he questions imperiously, mouth quirking into a wicked smile.

Before Bullock can answer, Cobblepot hears the sound of Gordon’s well-known voice.

“Come on, Chester,” he coos softly from the door. “Just a few more steps and then we’ll enjoy some nice roast beef. Don’t you like that? Oh yes, I know you do,” he finishes, crouching down beside the dog, totally oblivious to Penguin’s presence.

Oswald observes how he scratches Ed behind the ears before adjusting a bag from a grocery store around his wrists. Then, he bends down. Scooping the dog up in his arms he starts walking towards the stairs leading to his office. “Daddy just knows you don’t like stairs, don’t you?” he asks cheerfully while carrying the dog through the precinct, looking the happiest Oswald has ever seen him.

Gaping at the scene unfolding in front of his eyes, the gangster watches how Gordon starts climbing the stairs, completely engrossed with the pet in his arms.

Harvey snorts beside him. “If that’s your doggo, Cobblepot, you gonna have to pry him from Jim’s cold, dead arms.”

 

Scowling in annoyance, the Penguin follows the detective.

 

Jim is still fussing over the pet when Oswald reaches his office. Through the blenders, he observes the Captain of the GCPD preparing a fresh bowl of water and placing roast beef, rice, and cooked chicken on a plate. Ed, on the other hand, is entirely focused on the meal he’s about to receive while he keeps running in circles around the Captain’s legs.

“Always so impatient,” Jim chuckles when finally putting the plate on the ground. He pets the dog before readjusting a doggy basket he placed behind the window overlooking the precinct.

It’s exactly the moment Gordon notes the Penguin’s presence. Or well, the presence of his perfectly polished shoes and cane.

Rising slowly to his feet, Gordon gives the ruler of Gotham’s underworld a long, severe stare before yanking his door open.

“Cobblepot,” he growls menacingly.

“Captain Gordon,” Oswald greets politely back.

At the sound of his voice, Ed’s ears perk up. Forgetting his luxurious meal, the dog starts wiggling his tail-less butt in excitement and storms towards the door.

The heavy, tank-like creature crashes against his good leg, almost sending Oswald flying to the ground in his delight of seeing his rightful owner again. Not that the kingpin would mind.

Opening his arms, Oswald embraces the velvety thing that started making all kinds of ear-piercing, terrible sounds in his endless joy. The barking is only occasionally being interrupted when Ed’s tongue darts out to lick each and every trace of make-up, mascara, and kajal from his owner’s face.

“My Eddie,” Oswald crows victoriously, barely holding back the relieved tears threatening to stream down his smudged face.

When Ed is finally done with making a mess out of his owner, he simply turns around, retreating to his neglected meal and starts munching as if they had never even spent a second apart.

Meanwhile, Gordon takes everything in with his patent stoic expression. When Oswald has straightened out his suit, he retreats behind his desk in an attempt to put some space between him and the gangster. He doesn’t speak, simply watches the gangster wearily.

When Ed is finished, Oswald snaps his finger. “Come on, Ed. We’re leaving,” he commands.

The dog gets up immediately, but before he can reach his owner, Jim speaks too. “Chester, stay down,” he growls harshly and the dog freezes, unable to decide which command to follow.  

“Ed,” Oswald repeats, tapping his cane impatiently.

“Chester,” Jim barks and the poor dog looks from one man to another and finally decides to just curl up on the carpet in front of Jim’s desk.

Sucking in an outraged breath, the King of Gotham puffs out his chest and takes a step towards the cop sitting behind his desk like a fat spider.

“Jim,” he starts, flashing his teeth at the man in an imitation of a smile, “I came to retrieve my dog. It seems you cared quite decently for my Ed so I’m happy to compensate you for any…”

“No,” Jim interjects curtly. “Before I return this animal into your care, I need proof that you are the rightful owner. Sorry,” he adds, flashing him a sharkish grin. “Regulations,” he elaborates with an almost apologetic shrug.

“Captain Gordon,” Oswald starts, leaning over the table until he’s almost nose to nose with the cop. “If the dog’s reaction wasn’t proof enough…”

“It wasn’t.”

“In this case,” the Penguin smirks triumphantly, “I have all the paperwork right here.” And with that, he drops a certificate of rightful dog-ownership at the desk. “I take it we are done here?” he finishes, raising his eyebrow curiously at the Captain.

Pressing his lips together in obvious contempt, Gordon picks up the papers as if they had personally insulted him. Perhaps they have. He unfolds them carefully before studying them thoroughly.

Oswald rolls his eyes.

“They seem legit,” comes the verdict at last. “But you will understand, those papers will have to be verified. That might take a while,” he adds sternly.

The kingpin could outright scream. If he were anywhere else but at the GCPD, he would probably stab the man sitting in front of him for daring to keep him away from his property. And if it were anyone else but Jim Gordon, a traitorous little voice in his head appends.

Locking eyes with the other man, Oswald straightens out his immaculate suit and takes a step back before doing something stupid and promptly walks on a dog toy. When the plushie squeaks loudly, Ed lunges at it and starts pulling it out from under his shoe.

Looking around in annoyance, Oswald, at last, notes how many toys are scattered across the room. He can make out various rubber-bones, three more plushies in various colors, another doggy basket beneath Gordon’s desk and four different leashes hanging neatly beside Gordon’s trench-coat as well as a blue dog-jacket.

And suddenly, the puzzle is solved. Oswald keeps staring at the small piece of clothing a moment longer before addressing the Captain again.

“Ed means a lot to me too,” he elaborates gently. “I  _need_ him back in my life,” he confesses, pulling out a chair and sitting down. The dog then comes over and gently nudges his foot with his nose. Patting him tenderly, Oswald gives Jim a pleading glance.

Gordon’s hard stare finally softens but it’s too early for breathing a sigh of relief. Oswald knows better than anyone else how lonely Jim must be too. The ridiculous collection of dog toys speaks volumes.

And hasn’t the Captain lost a lot too? Both his fiancees turned into criminals, he lost his unborn child and Sofia Falcone almost succeeded in seducing him and using him to take down their beloved city. And then that nutter Valeska showed up, almost blowing up Jim Gordon and all the bridges connecting the Gotham with the mainland.

Life hasn’t been easy on the good Captain either, the kingpin muses. And according to his information, he hasn’t had a relationship since that short-lived fling with Sofia. He must be in need of something to lay his love on. Something he can cherish before all his compassion goes to waste.

In the meantime, Jim has become unusually quiet. He’s for sure weighing the Penguin’s words, fighting an inner battle, torn between doing what’s right and what’s convenient for him.

“So, you called the dog Chester?” Oswald asks, trying to lighten the mood. “I have to admit, it’s fitting.”

Jim snorts. “Don’t flatter yourself. I didn’t name the dog after you.”

“Oh, I would have never assumed,” Oswald winks. “But now that you mention it..”

“I named him after the dog on a nineties sitcom,” Jim elaborates. “Mind, the dog on the show was a Pomeranian. But I always wanted one,” he admits, scratching his neck awkwardly.

“A Pomeranian?” Oswald echoes incredulously, trying to picture the tall, handsome, fit Captain with one of these tiny, fluffy creatures at his side.

“What?” Jim snaps back. “They are cute.”

The kingpin hums in agreement. “I guess they are,” he offers.

“Oswald,” Jim starts tentatively and somehow the way his name is spoken sends all kinds of alarm bells ringing inside the gangster’s head. After all, Jim only calls him Oswald if he wants something from him.

“I can’t return Chester into your care,” he finally confesses. “You do realize, your line of work isn’t really ideal when it comes to caring for a pet,” Jim concludes.

Head snapping up, the Penguin looks Gordon straight in the eye. “Well, that’s rich coming from  _you_ of all people. You are honestly trying to tell me you are the perfect dog owner? With your working hours? And all those shootouts at the GCPD? On an almost weekly basis?”

“I would never take Chester with me to a shootout,” Jim huffs while pushing some papers around on his desk.

“Guess what,” Oswald barks back. “Neither do I. But from what I’m experiencing, the shootouts come to you!”

“Not as often as they come to you,” Jim retorts angrily. “After all, you are a  _criminal_ ,” he spats and Oswald’s patience is spent - entirely.

“Oh, and you are not?” the kingpin drawls. “You are nothing but a dirty cop living in endless denial about that fact, constantly lecturing me from your high moral horse. I’ll tell you what: this is my dog and you keeping him from me does nothing for your precious law.”

For a second, Oswald is certain he has won when Jim’s shoulders slump, guilt written all over his features. The Penguin knows it was a low blow. Despite all his flaws, Gordon truly always gives his best, tries earnestly keeping up some kind of order in this hellhole of a city.

Besides, he would never betray him the way Nygma did and shoot him in the gut. Gordon only ever comes after him with handcuffs and a warrant. And even if tarnished, his moral compass is still intact. Jim Gordon is probably the only cop in Gotham who never accepted a bribe.

“Then it won’t come as a surprise to you: I’m keeping Chester,” Gordon answers, clenching his jaw angrily.

Well, that  _is_ a surprise. Taken aback by the determination in Jim’s voice, the Penguin sputters.

“You won’t get away with that” he hisses menacingly. “Edward belongs to me and no one else!”

“No!”

Slamming his fist on the table, sending all kinds of papers flying, Oswald pushes himself into Jim’s personal space again. “ _You_ ,” he starts, “are the most irresponsible person I know. You can’t maintain a single relationship of yours. You would probably forget Ed entirely when chasing me again for a crime I didn’t commit…”

“It wasn’t me who lost the damn dog!” Jim hollers, rising from his seat.

“Your girlfriend lost your baby because you were too selfish to do the right thing!” Oswald screams back.

The effect is instantaneous. Jim reels back as if the Penguin had really stabbed him. Hands dropping to his sides, he becomes a picture of calmness - and of barely contained rage.

The moment the words have left his mouth, Oswald’s eyes go wide. Clamping a hand over his mouth, he wills them back inside but the damage has already irrevocably been done. No, no, no! He didn’t mean to get carried away that much in his anger. Reaching out, he tries putting a consoling hand on the other man’s arm. Jim yanks it away as if his touch would burn him.

Wordlessly, he starts collecting the dog toys and puts them in the plastic bag he previously used for bringing the food. When he’s done, he adjusts a collar around Ed’s neck and drops the leash as well as the bag into Oswald’s limp hands.

“Get out,” he commands, voice barely above a whisper.

Yet, the Penguin is unable to move. He just sits there, staring apologetically at the cop.

“You got what you wanted,” Jim tries again. “Now get the hell out,” he repeats his request, more urgently this time.

“Jim, I’m…”

“I don’t want to hear it!” His voice feels like a slap to his face and Oswald can’t blame him.

His relationship with Jim Gordon is a long and complicated one. They use and sometimes abuse each other in order to receive their goals. But there are unwritten laws to their endless game of push and pull. One of those rules is not to kill each other. Another would be evading low blows.

So far, Jim has played according to those rules. He never called Oswald out on his physical disability or named him a freak. He also never belittled him for his love for the Riddler. And now Oswald went and used Jim’s greatest loss against him. It for sure was the lowest blow he can think of.

“I’m sorry,” Oswald whispers when leading Ed out of the precinct.

  
  
  
  



	3. Hand Over The Dog Then

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oswald needs a new dog-sitter. And who would be better suited than one Jim Gordon?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, my updates take so long. RL is taking its toll on me. I hope you have fun reading this - I certainly had fun writing it :-).

Five days have passed since Oswald’s unfortunate run-in with Jim and he honestly doesn’t expect to hear from the foul-tempered Captain anytime soon. Not after exchanging their latest unpleasantries that is. But here goes Gordon and surprises the gangster. Quite thoroughly.

Oswald spent the last five minutes staring at the inconspicuous box lying on his desk disbelievingly. He’s completely paralyzed. This can’t be happening, but yet it does: Jim Gordon has sent him a present. Well, not him personally but rather Edward.

The point still stands. After years of resentment, anger, rage, vengeance and playing all kinds of games, Jim Gordon has decided to something _nice_ for the very first time. It’s the closest Oswald will ever come to receiving an apology from the impossible man.

The gangster treads carefully through the contents of the parcel: three dog-collars made of surprisingly soft leather, two more coats for Ed, two dog bowls, another doggie basket, and countless toys. Oswald can’t even fathom when and how the busy man had found the time to buy that insane amount of dog accessories. Did Jim just walk into the first store and grabbed anything and everything that struck his fancy?

Picking up one coat, he slides it over Ed’s head, and lo and behold, it fits perfectly. So Jim indeed put some care into his selection. Also, contrary to any prejudice he holds against the cop, all of these items are of immaculate quality. Of course, they aren’t as luxurious as Ed’s usual collection but they are no cheap crap either.

Zsasz saunters into the room and stares at the parcel with blunt curiosity. “Seems like the Captain went slightly overboard,” he states as his long, leather-clad fingers descend into the box. “Wow, is that a velvet _frock_?” he asks while digging through the contents, eyes widening at the sight of a little black jacket complete with coattails.

“I’d prefer you wouldn’t go through my personal belongings,” the Penguin snaps, yanking the item impatiently from his minion’s hands.

“Technically, these aren’t yours,” the assassin points out, still itching to get a better look at the coat but knowing better than to test his employer's patience.

“Edward owns these, I own Edward,” Oswald retorts with a little huff while shoving the parcel underneath his desk.

“Well, that’s just the law and I can’t remember we ever cared much about that,” Victor decides, slurping his milk-shake loudly. “I very much assume dogs are able to own things,” Victor carries on, unfazed. “Don’t you think?” he asks. Raising his cup, he takes another sip while studying the mob-boss expectantly.

The Penguin only responds with an annoyed glare. Pinching the bridge of his nose, he tries to remember _why_ exactly it’s not an excellent idea to poison those god-awful milkshakes. Besides, he has no idea how he ended up discussing whether dogs are able to own things or not with his hitman. Oswald needs to change the topic.

Getting up from his seat, he pulls a face while tapping his cane impatiently on the floor. “Did you find me another caretaker for Edward yet?” he demands to know, aiming for his usual, imperious nature.

His change in demeanor has the desired effect as Zsasz returns to his professional self. Clearing his throat, he shakes his head. “None of the applicants meet your expectations. Honestly, I’m not even sure first-aid-courses specifically for Bulldogs are even available.”

When the kingpin doesn’t answer, the assassin sighs in exasperation. “Why do you even need a dog-sitter?” he demands to know, earning himself another scowl.

After all, Oswald Chesterfield Cobblepot didn’t rise to become a king to justify himself. It’s certainly none of his minion’s business why he can’t care for his puppy 24/7. He has other obligations too, and some of those need to stay a well-kept secret. 

Like Martin. Martin, his little boy, his son, the light of his life. 

None of his subordinates must ever know where his kid is being kept. Oswald went great lengths to ensure his child’s safety. And that includes absolutely nobody being able to guess his whereabouts.

The kid is currently visiting a private school in Connecticut where no one has a clue who and what his father truly is. To those people, he’s nothing but a wealthy businessman like so many others. Just another irresponsible parent who only visits their kid on the weekends. 

Oswald never imagined being a father. And even if, he would have never guessed he’d be the kind of parent who can’t care for his child as his mother did.

Not being able to wrap his arms around the precious little thing whenever he seeks guidance, comfort, or just needs his dad’s presence, rips the criminal’s heart out on a daily basis. Yet, after Sofia’s attempt to take his son’s life, Oswald can’t take any risks.

First, he tried staying apart from him completely - for Martin’s own good. But the little man wouldn’t listen. And one night, he broke into the mansion, alerting each and every security system in the process.

Of course, Oswald had tried to send him away again. But when Martin broke down in tears and spoke for the first time in his life, the gangster knew he stood no chance. Not after Martin had called him dad.

And since then, the mobster drives to New Haven every Friday evening, uncaring how much his bad leg would hurt, or much work still needs to be done, in order to spend the weekend with his kid.

Gabe is certain Oswald has an affair with some sweet, innocent girl who may never know he’s a gangster. Butch thinks more or less the same. Zsasz probably assumes he tortures his enemies in a dark cellar during his free time. And thank you very much, Oswald intends to keep it that way.

If only Ed would not puke the moment he enters a car, Oswald would take him along for the ride. But after countless failed attempts to get his pet used to driving, the mobster decided to hire a dog-sitter.

Sadly, neither Gabe nor Butch can be entrusted with the task at hand. Oswald doesn’t trust Gabe’s mental abilities enough to leave something as precious as Ed in his care. Butch, on the other hand, is still hopelessly devoted to Tabitha who in turn is still in a relationship with Barbara. And Oswald is pretty certain she wouldn’t hesitate to use his dog against him if given half a chance.

As for Zsasz… Well, keeping something alive outright contradicts his job description.

“Why don’t you ask Gordon?” The assassin’s voice pierces right through the kingpin’s musings, startling him in the process. “He owes you, right?” Zsasz continues. “And you haven’t been exactly collecting your debts lately. I mean, I’d rather torture him for a couple of days but as you seem to have a soft spot for Gordon….”

Holding up a hand, Oswald interrupts his subordinate. “I decidedly do not have a soft spot for the good Captain,” he states, pulling a face and Zsasz retreats with a soft smile playing around his lips.

Oh no, the Penguin definitely does not have a soft spot for anyone except his kid and dog. And certainly not for some deceitful cop. Sure, he should kill the man who brought him to Arkham twice, and who robbed him of his position of power in the process, but killing is just too mundane. 

After all, revenge is a form of art. And Jim Gordon deserves something special. A special kind of revenge. The very moment Oswald has figured out what to do with him, he definitely will. Absolutely. That’s a promise. Until then, he can still be useful.

And maybe, just maybe, he admires Jim - just a bit. In a city full of corrupt politicians and crooked cops Gordon is a refreshing exception. He still refuses to adapt to the rules of Gotham City, still believes in fighting against all evil and still only compromises if absolutely necessary. 

Jim Gordon is the closest thing to a dragon-slaying knight Oswald has ever encountered. In a way, he reminds him of the heroes from his childhood fairy-tales.

Deep down, he can’t even blame Jim for his desire to put him behind bars. The mobster is well-aware of the blood on his hands. In Jim Gordon’s eyes, he is a murderer. One who will continue to kill in the future and according to the cop, he needs to be stopped. So yes, maybe he has a soft spot for Gordon. 

If he only understood that in a city like Gotham some deaths are absolutely necessary, mere casualties!

But then, Jim wouldn’t be Jim if he started understanding why Oswald does what he does. In this rotten city, he’s still a shining light, a man striving to bring back law and order, blind to the fact that only the king of all crime can guarantee some form of order. That’s just the way Gotham works and nothing will ever be able to change that. This city is simply rancid to its core. 

Admitted, Jim’s attempts to save the city are a tad bit endearing. Or would be if they wouldn’t cost Oswald dearly time and time again.

Heaving a deep sigh, the kingpin takes another look at the box beneath his desk. Despite all his flaws, Jim cared quite nicely for Ed. Zsasz has a point there. The question is, would Jim accept to look after the pet? After what he said to him?  Would he put up a fight again when it came to returning Ed?

Oswald doubts Jim would have really refused to give him his pet back. Sometimes the Captain simply acts like a stubborn child in his determination to keep what he loves safe and sound. A trait the mobster understands better than most people. In truth, Oswald wouldn’t have acted differently if their roles had been reversed. 

The mobster regrets his harsh words deeply. He really crossed a line that day he shouldn’t have, despite his emotional turmoil. Yet, what better way to apologize than giving someone exactly what he wants? Self-satisfied with his train of thought, Oswald orders Gabe to take him to Gordon’s apartment.

  


When arriving at Jim’s place, the cop succeeds to surprise the mobster a second time.

 

Oswald remembers the place being a grimy, untidy mess. Yet when arriving, he finds Jim standing in his door frame, wearing sweatpants, holding a paint-brush and currently renovating his entrance area.

His face drops when the mobster limps closer. Clenching his jaw, he spits out his usual greeting. “Cobblepot.” Oswald wonders how he never fails to make his name sound like an insult.

“Old friend,” he taunts in return, knowing full well how much he despises the phrase.

Dropping the brush, Jim walks into his tiny flat, sure the gangster will follow. When looking around, Oswald notes a couple of major changes. The once almost gray walls are all painted white, the cheap linoleum covering the floor has been ripped out, revealing a rather nice parquet. The biggest improvement though is a big, very comfortable looking, light blue sofa in the living room. The kingpin takes all these changes in at lightning speed, keeping his face politely indifferent the entire time.

Jim follows his gaze towards the sofa. Being the good cop he is, it’s hard to deceive him. “Had to throw the old sofa out after Chester drooling all over it,” he growls but there’s no real heat behind his words.

“Right,” Oswald agrees, wondering what the real reason might be. It’s not like Ed has ever destroyed any furniture at his own home.

Walking into the kitchen, Jim pours himself a glass of water. “Want something?” he grumbles from behind the counter and the mobster wonders if he means some refreshments or the reason for his visit.

Trying his luck, he decides to ask for a cup of tea, almost certain Jim won’t have any at home. Moments later, he hears the sound of water heating up.

“Black tea or fruit tea?” comes the next question, sounding not less hostile. Oswald has to bite his tongue else he’d start lecturing Jim how fruit tea isn’t really tea but an infusion.

“Black,” he answers instead, playing absent-mindedly with his cane. “Two sugars and a dash of milk please.”

The Captain nods, jaw set so tight the mobster fears for him to get a cramp.

“What do you want from me?” Jim asks harshly and once he’s done, he pushes a cup into Oswald’s hands big enough to water an entire palm tree with its contents. 

“Why thank you,” he replies smiling brightly. “I can’t recall you ever being so hospitable before.”

The cop grits his teeth. “Don’t get used to it,” he grumbles, downing his own glass of water. “I’m only worried you lost your dog again.”

“I really don’t intend letting Ed roam freely a habit,” Oswald chuckles, deciding to try out Jim’s new sofa.

“I only wish that was true,” Jim retorts, rolling his eyes and clearly meaning the human Edward. 

“Jim Gordon making a joke, that’s one for the books!” he exclaims, pleased the irritable man is in a somewhat good mood. Of course, Jim doesn’t respond. “Really an improvement,” he praises once he’s settled on the couch. 

Heaving a sigh, the cop takes a seat opposite the gangster. “So, what made you decide my first day off in two weeks should be interrupted by your visit?” Jim asks, tapping his foot impatiently, clearly itching to throw the gangster out already.

Oswald’s polite smile never falters despite being slightly irritated by the Captain’s behavior. Can Jim not once be civil? “I simply wanted to thank you for your well-chosen presents. Ed was delighted to have his little frock back. Are you still certain you didn’t name him after me?” The kingpin could bite his tongue. Somehow he has serious troubles not turning everything he says into a jab too.

“He ruined my sofa and turned my life upside down,” Jim scoffs. “Might have reminded me subconsciously about you,” he admits with the ghost of a smile playing around his lips.

“But unlike me, the dog didn’t ruin it?” Oswald scoffs in return.

“Never said you did,” Jim retorts, rendering the gangster speechless for a second.

Hiding his face behind the mug, the Penguin takes another sip from his tea. Trying to decide how to spring his idea at Jim, he finally goes for bluntness. So far, all his attempts to be diplomatic have been an utter waste anyway. “I need a dog-sitter,” he simply admits, trying to assess the other man’s reaction.

As usual, Jim stays stoic before his face gives away his emotions. For whatever reason, he’s utterly unable to control his expressions in front of the mobster. Within seconds, he goes from incredulousness to his usual anger to something Oswald can’t really assess. It might be hope but he isn’t certain.

“Last time I looked I was still a cop,” Jim remarks drily, “not one of your minions.”

“Very true, old friend,” the Penguin acknowledges with a lopsided grin. “Yet one who owes me one or two or maybe thirty-five favors. Not that I keep count,” he finishes, leaning back against the soft cushions.

Mirroring his movement, Jim contradicts him. “If you kept counting, _old_ _friend_ ,” he starts, narrowing his eyes at him, “you would have noticed how that isn’t quite true.”

Jim Gordon’s usual self-denial was to be expected yet Oswald can’t help pulling a face. After everything he did, after bringing Sofia to Gotham, after putting him behind bars for crimes he didn’t even commit, after flying a blimp in circles for hours to save their beloved city, he would have expected at least _something_. 

“May I jog your memory then?” he offers, the amiable facade again firmly in place.

“There’s really no need,” the other man growls. “I know what you did for me but clearly _you_ have no concept of what I did in return.”

“So you think taking care of my dog for a week makes us even?” the mobster snaps back incredulously.

Tilting his head, Jim considers the man sitting in front of him. The silence stretches between them for an almost uncomfortable amount of time before the cop speaks again. This time, he’s barely audible.

“I was rather referring to all these times I didn’t put you behind bars when I had the opportunity,” Jim tells him in a gentle voice.

And isn’t that just the height of insolence? Wasn’t the other man happy to send him off to Arkham and throw the keys away for his own benefit? Didn’t he allow for him to get tortured without even batting an eye?

Before Oswald can so much as take a proper breath, Jim already holds up a hand. “I know what you must think,” he says. “But how many times did you stab, shot, or threaten to torture someone directly under my nose? Hmm?”

“You sent me to Arkham!” the mobster blurts out. “Twice! For crimes, I never committed! And you _knew_!”

“Exactly,” Jim concedes. “You were never insane, though. You would have never been released from Blackgate. And I never claimed otherwise in court.”

Slightly taken aback, the Penguin tries processing the given information. Could it be true? Was sending him to Arkham an act of mercy in Jim’s eyes? Did he rather let him go to this hellish place because he knew he would be released at some point?

Shaking himself mentally, he snaps out of it. Jim has never been soft on him. He set out to destroy his empire and only when realizing that the alternatives were much worse, he let him reign somewhat freely. Only since that ordeal with Sofia, Jim has toned his efforts to drag him to the ground a notch down. 

“You ruined my empire,” Penguin accuses. “You ruined the Pax Penguina when it just worked perfectly fine,” he concludes. 

“Worked just fine?!” Jim’s voice practically booms through the tiny apartment. Getting up he starts pacing the tiny place, body shaking from barely contained rage. 

“You practically declared yourself a God who decides who lives and who dies in Gotham and who becomes the victim of a crime and who doesn’t. Nobody should be allowed to wield that amount of power. Not you, not me, nobody.”

By the end of Jim’s speech, the Penguin is almost certain he’ll grab his lapels and shake him again. Yet he doesn’t. Instead, the cop just looks slightly defeated despite all his anger. 

“Why would you need a dog-sitter?” Jim then asks out of nowhere, effectively changing the topic. “Don’t you have an entire army of goons at your disposal to look after Ches-, I mean Edward?”

Turning the cane thoughtfully between his fingers the Penguin nods silently. 

“So why come to me?” Jim urges and again Oswald decided honestly would be the best course of action. 

“I like knowing who and what I love is safe when I’m away from Gotham,” he sighs. “I don’t need a repetition of what happened to my mother.”

Gordon doesn’t answer right away, just frowns slightly. “I won’t become a co-perpetrator to murder,” he finally decides. “If you want to place Ed into my care only so you can go and stab someone….”

Oswald scoffs. “Please stop painting me as some lunatic serial-killer. That’s frankly insulting.”

The Captain merely rolls his eyes. 

“I now and then have to leave Gotham to take care of someone very important to me,” he admits. “And I would rather do so knowing Ed is being well cared for. But I completely understand now that going to you had been a stupid idea.” 

Picking up his coat, Oswald turns to leave. “Thank you for your time, Jim,” he tells him, already reaching for the doorknob, cursing when some of the fresh paint stains his sleeve. 

“Wait!” the cop mutters. “I never said I wouldn’t do it.”  



	4. Get There Safely

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Penguin leaves Ed in Jim's care.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I sincerely hope you'll like the new chapter. It's like 3 am here and I can't judge anything anymore ^^. But I had much fun writing this chapter (so I couldn't stop).

Friday noon rolls around, and Oswald finds himself as agreed upon in Jim’s basement flat. Once Ed recognizes the location, the mobster has trouble containing his dog. The pet starts barking eagerly and pulls like crazy at his leash even before they can reach the stairs leading down to Jim’s apartment. Windows fly open, people start complaining, and the Penguin has no other choice but to hide his face behind his collar.

Alerting all of Gotham of his departure definitely wasn’t the plan. On the other hand, Ed’s barking saves him from arriving headfirst at Jim’s home. Alerted by the rumpus, the cop thankfully comes out and saves the Penguin from being pulled unceremoniously down the stairs.

Sadly, his civil behavior stops right there. After giving the dog an extensive and warm welcome, he scoops him up in his arms and decides to let Oswald master the steep steps all on his own. Which isn’t easy when carrying a bulky duffle bag filled to the brink with Ed’s toys, coats, leashes, and a doggie basket complete without his cane he had to leave in his car due to needing both his hands free.

Glaring daggers at Jim’s back, Oswald drops the heavy bag angrily onto the living room floor and storms after him into the kitchen.

“A good day to you too, Gordon,” he sneers when the other man finally decides to acknowledge him.

“Oswald,” Jim greets him nonchalantly, turning his attention almost instantly back to Edward.

“Do you know what daddy got you?” he coos excitedly and Oswald curls his lips in jealousy.

“He already has a daddy, Jim,” the gangster remarks, stepping closer to the pair of them.

As expected, the lawman doesn’t answer but shushes him with a dismissive gesture.

“I hope you are aware of the fact that I expect him to be returned to me by Sunday evening?” he carries on, bad temper flaring already.

“Yeah, yeah,” the cop replies disinterestedly, obviously completely over the moon for having the pet back in his care. Which is exactly what Oswald wanted. Yet still slightly unsettling.

“Look, Eddie,” Jim crows, holding up a delicious looking steak. “I made us lunch,” he announces, a gigantic smile plastered all over his face. And for a moment, the gangster forgets being annoyed. He can’t remember seeing Jim that genuinely happy - ever. His bright blue eyes sparkle merrily, for once not resembling a stormy sea but rather the sky’s color on a bright spring day. Brushing a strand of his blonde hair back, he bends down. If Oswald appreciates how good his backside looks in a pair of tight-fitting jeans - well, that’s just stating the facts.

“One steak without any seasoning for you and one with pepper and chili for me,” Jim babbles joyfully.  Patting the dog once again gently, he starts cutting the meat into tiny pieces.

“You know, Jim,” Oswald drawls sarcastically, inwardly delighted with how his pet is being treated. “Ed has teeth. You don’t have to dissect that steak into its atoms,” he remarks with a good-natured roll of his eyes.  

Shoulders tensing slightly, the cop turns around. “Why are you still here?” he barks harshly, effectively killing the mobster’s good mood in the process. “I thought the deal was for you to bring Ed and then immediately getting out of my sight.”

Oswald bears his teeth in turn. He meant to muster a polite smile, but when pulling a grimace he rather resembles a gremlin ready to attack.  

“I thought we should discuss a few things first,” he answers haughtily, shifting his weight onto his good leg.

“Like?” Jim prompts, arching an eyebrow curiously.

“Vets for example,” he points out, taking a seat and handing Jim a list with various names and phone numbers. “That’s a list with Gotham’s best vets. As you can see, they are all specialized in different fields. Dr. Graham, for example, is an excellent orthopaedist. Should Ed hurt himself while playing, I wish for him to be taken there. Of course, any expenses will be covered by me.”

Jim huffs. “Impossible,” he contradicts firmly. “I can’t take a single dollar from you. If anybody finds out I not only take care of a mobster’s dog but get paid as well, I can turn myself in.”

Not giving Oswald the opportunity to retort, he studies the list carefully. After bestowing one of his sublime, severe stares upon the gangster, Jim starts protesting some more. “Dr. Graham recently received damning reviews. I refuse to take Ed there. Dr. Morgenson is much better.”

The mobster snorts derisively. “I forbid you to take Ed to that witch. Her experiments are extremely dubious and her success rate…”

“Is outstanding when it comes to standard treatments,” Jim finishes. “I don’t know all the names on your list, but honestly, Dr. Johansson? He’s seventy!”

“He’s got experience!” Oswald snaps back, the color in his cheeks already rising critically fast.

Coming around the counter, the cop flops down on his couch. Snatching the tablet from his coffee table, he starts searching the names from Oswald’s list. “Seventy-two!” he exclaims. “It would be a miracle if he’s still able to differ Ed from a cat.”

Balling his fists, the mobster grits his teeth when Jim has the audacity flash him an insolent grin on top of his attitude. “No yelling,” he warns with a provoking twitch of his lips. “Ed doesn’t like loud noises,” he adds unnecessarily.  

Taking three deep breaths, the Penguin tries to calm himself down. Why on Earth again was giving Ed into Jim’s care a good idea? If he has to go through this ordeal every Friday from now on, he’ll soon die prematurely of a heart attack caused by pent up rage, that’s for certain.

Or he’ll kill Gordon. In his mind, he can already picture himself strangling the Captain of the GCPD with crystal clarity. Oh, how wonderful it would be to place his hands around his throat until that cheeky grin fades from his face. The thought gives him enough countenance back to continue their conversation.

“You think a week with Ed makes you an expert?” he asks mockingly. “Try caring for a dog for over a year. I bet you have never been to the vet in the middle of the night with a feverish pet. You don’t know what it’s like if Ed has trouble breathing, or how he suffered when I had to have his hip fixed. So don’t you dare to lecture me on vets!” he finishes with a menacing snarl, eyes turning icy.

To his pleasure, the smug grin slowly fades from Jim’s face. Clicking his tongue against his teeth, he nods slightly. “Long drive ahead?” he wants to know.

“About two hours. Bit less,” Oswald answers absent-mindedly, perplexed by the unexpected question like some inexperienced rookie.

“Connecticut?” Jim guesses then, obviously pleased when the Penguin’s lips press into a thin line. Oswald could kick himself. Sometimes he forgets how cunning the other man is. If he carries on like that, he can tell the cop outright where he’s going.

Ever since their first encounter, Gordon plays him like a fiddle by using the oldest trick in the repertoire: good cop, bad cop.

One day, he would slam him into the nearest wall, and then he’d go and save his life, or shoot his mother’s murderer right between his eyes only to toss him away like garbage a minute later. Jim Gordon has perfectioned the game of hot and cold by always putting him on a roller-coaster ride straight through hell.

And now he’s agreed to watch over Edward - another favor done. Oswald knows Jim’s courtesy isn’t for free, and contrary to the mobster, he collects his debts profusely.

Nodding again, the cop gets up. Of course, he would never admit being wrong but at least he remembers some of his sparse manners. “Want something to drink or half a steak?” he grumbles already turning towards his kitchen. This is part of his game too, Oswald thinks bitterly. Being all gruff and impolite even when doing something courteous.

“No, thank you,” Oswald sighs wearily. “I don’t intend to stop on the way,” he adds when Jim’s steel-blue eyes widen in surprise.

Before Martin, the kingpin probably would have sacrificed his healthy leg for the opportunity to have lunch with James Gordon. This man used to be his personal kryptonite ever since he pulled him back from the brink of certain death. He still is, in a way. Despite everything that happened, Oswald still hasn’t gotten back at Jim, still staves off his revenge day after day.

The truth is, he has enough dirt on the man to ruin him forever. So why does he still hesitate? Is it because of his mother? When Galavan took her from him, it was Jim who gave him this extraordinary present, who enabled him to get his revenge, and who pulled him back from the insanity threatening to engulf him.

When putting his hand on his shoulder, telling him it was enough, and ending the man himself, he saved him a second time.

If not for Jim, Oswald would have never stopped beating Galavan. He would not have been able to. Maybe he’d still be at the harbor, beating a corpse already turned to sand and dust like a madman.

And then Jim went and sentenced him to the deepest pits of hell.

Maybe he deserved that. And still, he hasn’t learned a thing, is still entirely unable to control his emotions. Both Jim and Ed had tried to teach him that lesson. But he wouldn’t be Oswald Chesterfield Cobblepot if he wouldn’t feel so deeply.

“What is in the bag?” the cop demands to know, ripping the gangster from his musings.

The criminal flinches and Jim looks already distrustful.

“Ed’s toys. The stuff you bought him,” he answers defensively and Jim’s gaze softens. “Thought I’d bring them over before you ransack all of Gotham’s pet stores again,” he finishes with a soft chuckle, still having a hard time picturing Jim standing in a pet shop, picking out toys.

“Yeah, I might have gone slightly overboard in my excitement,” he admits, scratching his neck and blushing slightly. It’s a good look on him, Oswald decides. Without the ever-present frown creasing his forehead, the years seem to fall off his face, revealing the innocent boy he once must have been.

“I never thanked you for sending them to me,” Oswald confesses, carefully assessing the cop’s reaction. Should he somehow get the impression the mobster considers those dog-toys as an offer for friendship, he for sure will bolt.

As expected, Jim dismisses Oswald’s appreciation. “I bought them for Ed. Didn’t want to throw them away.” He shrugs. “They are all hardly used after all,” he concedes. “And we had a fun time picking them out, didn’t we?” he adds, scratching Ed fondly behind his ears and pressing a little kiss on top of his head. The smile spreading over his face seems to lighten up the man from the inside.

When the dog tilts his head to receive more of Jim’s affections, the emotion rushing through Oswald isn’t the one he would have expected. When coming to the lawman’s place, he thought he would be jealous when seeing his pet jumping happily into Gordon’s arms. But what he feels isn’t jealousy - it’s sadness.

The Jim Gordon he now gets to know isn’t a rampant, violent, gruff man. No, he’s loving, tender, caring. He’s a man who goes great lengths to ensure what he loves is being well cared for. And for the first time, he starts to understand why Barbara went haywire when losing Jim. What she meant when calling Jim “Captain Vanilla” with a mixture of disdain and regret.

When seeing Jim with the small furry creature, he recognizes how much love the man must have to give and it pains his heart. Oswald, the Penguin, who had never been loved that profoundly, envies Barbara’s experience. If Jim gave her only a quarter of the attention he bestows onto Ed, she must have been a blessed woman. And according to Barbara, there used to be a time Jim tried everything in his power to lay the world at her feet. And when the Ogre took her, nothing would stop him to bring her to safety. Neither his precious law nor his morals.

He never saw that side of Jim before, but now he gets it. The Jim who slams him against walls, the same man who lives on disgusting hot dogs, and Chinese take out, would grill premium steaks to make a dog happy. He’s a man who always puts himself at the end of the line, yet the ones blessed enough to be loved by him - oh, that’s a different story altogether.

Oswald wishes someone would feel such a genuine affection for him. Just for once. Only for five minutes.

It’s pathetic. Yet, if he could ever have such a love, he would for sure never walk away from it again.

And all of a sudden he desperately wishes Jim could see through his Penguin persona and see the real him. The man who built an empire out of nothing, who came such a long way from bitter poverty, who rose to be a king, and not the monster. Jim will never see anything but the blood on his hands.

“I will be back by Sunday evening,” he announces, at last, trying to rise gracefully from his seat despite his handicap. “Try not killing my dog in the meantime and better remember I’ll be coming after you…”

Whatever hollow threat the kingpin tries spatting out is lost when white, hot pain shots up his leg. He’s used to those kinds of cramps, usually senses them approaching beforehand and takes the proper medication in advance. Today, with all those preparations and due to that endless banter with Gordon, he simply forgot.

Opening his mouth in a silent cry, he grabs the edge of Jim’s new sofa tightly. His nails dig deep into the soft fabric in an attempt to regain his footing - yet to no avail. The agony not only increases but practically skyrockets as his destroyed muscle fibers seem to curl around his bone.

Oswald can’t breathe. He can’t stand, he can’t sit back down. The only thing he’s capable of is holding onto that damn sofa for dear life. Ed jumps up and makes a distressed sound as he starts licking his aching leg with his rosy tongue. The mobster thinks he should probably pat him, but can’t seem to raise his hands.

Ever the gentleman, Jim eyes him with an unreadable expression before oh so slowly jumping into action. It takes Oswald some time before noticing that the cop tries talking to him. Only when snapping his finger directly in front of his face, he registers that Jim’s mouth is forming words.

“What’s wrong?” he shouts with an annoyed scowl.

“Leg. My leg,” he gasps, slumping over and almost ripping out a piece of fabric. He would expect Jim to pull his fingers from his new furniture, but instead, he gets down on one knee and reaches for his leg.

If he thought the pain was bad before - well, that’s nothing in comparison to these new levels of torment. Jim digs his fingers deep into the hardened places, and despite that ear-piercing scream ripped from his throat, he keeps adding pressure.

“It will cease any second,” Jim reassures him and if the Penguin wasn’t rendered motionless, he’d hit the cop.

“I’ll gut you!” he cries in response and the other man presses harder while Oswald prays to every deity in existence to kill the man with a lightning bolt.

True to Jim’s words, the pain actually does subside after only a few moments feeling like an entire lifetime.

“Better?” Gordon demands to know, back to his gruff self again.

Panting for air, the mobster nods mutely. It’s truly time to go, he decides, straightening out his suit but Jim stops him in his tracks.

“You don’t believe I’ll allow you to drive like this?” he asks incredulously, tilting his head as if in deep thoughts.  

“Why, James Gordon worried for my safety,” the Penguin tzks mockingly, wishing his voice wasn’t still so hoarse.

“No,” he retorts with a small snort. “I’m simply worried for those innocent Gothamites about to get wiped off the road.” He maneuvers Oswald back onto the couch with only little resistance. “Got something against the pain?” he inquires and the mobster nods again.

Pushing a glass of water into his hands, he waits for Oswald to swallow his pills while Ed curls up in his lap. “Wait a couple of minutes before you try driving,” Jim commands with an absolute no-nonsense expression. Too exhausted to protest, the King of Gotham just does that and enjoys his favorite cop’s sofa once more thoroughly.

“Why did you say Ed drooled all over your couch?” he blurts out once he regained his breath entirely, wincing when examining the damage he did to the furniture.

Jim only shakes his head in response. “Come on,” he says. “Let’s make sure you get safely to your special person.”


	5. Little Prince

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oswald finally makes it to Martin and considers giving up his life of crime.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for all your comments! I continue having much fun with this little story. I hope this chapter won't bore you - there's a lot of introspection.

Oswald is surprised when Jim accompanies him to his car. His face is sour, like always. The man somehow never fails to look like he swallowed a vinegar-filled grapefruit and downed it the whole thing with cranberry juice. Gordon is probably genuinely terrified he’ll take some of these oh so innocent Gothamites to their early graves on his way to Connecticut. The kingpin snorts. He’s filled with too much spite to die just yet. Besides, his little boy needs his father.

Holding Ed in his arms, Jim watches Oswald climbing into the vehicle with a disapproving expression. The cop works his jaw as if he wants to say something but then thinks better of it. When Ed squirms, he puts him gently down to the ground. Expression uncertain, the cop hesitantly reaches for the door but doesn’t close it right away.

“Why aren’t you taking Ed with you?” he asks, the question coming out too harsh, too loud. The mobster’s anger flares. They aren’t at the precinct, he doesn’t owe the cop an explanation but he answers anyway. Because he always answers to Jim Gordon. Even if he doesn’t want to, even if Jim has no business ordering him around.

“Ed always vomits on a long drive,” he sighs while buckling his seatbelt, hoping the cop would be satisfied by this explanation. 

Jim tilts his head in acknowledgment yet still doesn’t move. Oswald wonders what Jim might still want from him. Finally, he’s about to get out of his sight so why is he still hovering beside the car, boring his eyes into his forehead?

“If you want to know if you can keep the dog in case I wrap myself around a tree, the answer is no,” the kingpin declares breezily, itching to finally get going. He’s serious though. Should anything happen to him, Ed would be given to Martin. Along with enough money his boy would never have to worry about material things in his entire life. 

Expression softening, Jim reaches for the door again. “I did not…” 

He works his jaw silently, leaving the sentence unfinished. He’s staring at the floor, seemingly observing the dog beside him. The cop is quiet for once, not barking orders or needling the other man with questions. His grip on the door frame tightens until his knuckles turn white. There’s something genuinely distressed, something sincerely concerned, about his whole posture. And then their eyes meet and Jim’s uneasy, fragile gaze almost knocks the wind out of him. Oswald drowns in those blue eyes like the fool he is. 

In front of Jim Gordon, he’s sixteen years old again. He’s that pale, scrawny kid nobody wanted to be friends with. The odd boy with the old-fashioned clothes that were always a bit to too big cause his mum thought he’d still grow. He reads a lot and talks a bit awkwardly - like a character from times long gone. He’s got a stutter and he flushes beet-red when he’s ashamed. He's ashamed often. Young Oswald hasn’t got enough money on him to buy lunch but gets roughed up anyway. He hopes his mother won’t notice the bruises. 

Thankfully, his mum doesn’t notice much anymore. She lives in her own world and so does he. He’s mostly alone. And even if he isn’t, he’s lonely.

And Jim is the golden boy. The pretty quarterback every girl wants to go out with and every boy wants to be friends with. He’s never lonely and never awkward. He doesn’t stutter and his laughter sounds like a low rumble, not like a hysteric giggle. His clothes could be worn down but he’d still shine. He’s got the kind of body that makes a potato bag look like haute couture. And he’s kind. Everybody loves him and he loves all of them. 

Except for Oswald. Nobody loves Oswald, nobody notices Oswald. He hates them all with every fiber of his being.  

And when Jim finally does notice him, he only sees that ugly, insecure, cruel, little boy. He sees right through him, right to the bottom of all that hatred, and like any sane person, he turns away from the boy, too.

“Just make sure you’re back in time before my shift starts,” the cop finally requires, voice steady again. 

The door then snaps shut with a loud bang and the mobster is finally free to leave. Heaving a deep sigh, he looks after Jim. The Captain stands at the edge of the stairs, Ed in his arms. He takes one paw in his hand and waves it at Oswald, lips curling into a small smile as he stares after the retreating car. 

The mobster waves back, despite himself, feeling miserable and confused when stepping on the accelerator. Jim really knows how to wrap him around his little finger. It’s not like he cares about his well-being, he never did, and for sure he won’t start caring today of all days. 

 

The Penguin drives through the night, alone with his thoughts and the ever-present paranoia.  He glances into the driving mirror too often, fearing someone might be following him despite all his precautions. 

At night, every car looks the same, each person behind a steering wheel seems hostile. The pain in his leg returns, like it always does, but it’s nothing more than a slight throbbing, a reminder to stay focused else terrible things might happen.

Gripping the wheel tightly, he slows down and takes an exit he doesn’t even need. Wiping the sweat from his forehead, he watches a black sedan drive past. The car had been bothering him for the past fifteen minutes but thankfully, it had only been a false alarm. Well, better safe than sorry, he thinks while trying to figure out how to return to the freeway.

One tiny inattentiveness on his part could endanger Martin’s life and end his own. If anyone ever found out where exactly they are staying, if anyone would attack, he’d be lost. Sure, he’s a fighter, and he’s armed, but even he couldn’t fight off a paramilitary assault alone. Staying alone at the mansion in Connecticut is a security measure and a high risk all the same. 

Maybe he should have told Jim where he’s going. The man knows how to keep a secret. He proved that often enough. After allegedly shooting him at the docks for example, or after killing Galavan. Both times he kept his mouth firmly shut. 

And he might not be fond of the Penguin but he’d probably come to the rescue if Martin was in danger and bring some reinforcement too. But then Oswald doesn't want to give him the slightest leverage either. He doesn’t believe Jim would be as heartless as to use his boy against him but what if…? However, shouldn’t Martin’s safety be the utmost priority? 

The sun has long since set when he finally arrives at his mansion in New Heaven. Martin had been waiting for him the entire evening. He’s sound asleep on the sofa in the living room. His nurse is sitting beside him, reading a magazine. Oswald hired the woman because she hardly speaks English and never watches the news. She has no idea who and what he is and he’s grateful for that. With a gesture of his hand, he dismisses her. 

Dropping his luggage, he makes his way over to his precious little prince. He’s the only good, pure, untainted thing in his life. His precious son stirs when Oswald sits down beside him but doesn’t wake fully. Only when the criminal presses a soft kiss to his forehead, the boy opens his eyes. 

“Daddy!” the child mumbles. He’s still fighting to speak properly but that word always comes out without a stutter. 

When Martin wraps his tiny arms around him, the burdens of his life fall from his shoulders. The boy is still sluggish but struggling towards consciousness, intent on not letting his limited time with his dad go to waste. This should be enough, Oswald thinks. The unconditional love of a child should be everything he needs in his life. 

He takes Martin to bed and despite being drop dead tired himself, he starts reading him a bedtime story. Fittingly, the little prince of Gotham chooses The Little Prince. Oswald hasn’t read that book in years. He only remembers a distant feeling of sadness being connected with the reading. 

Martin snuggles closer. Taking the book from his hands, he browses through it, searching for the pictures. 

“Did you brush your teeth?” Oswald asks and the little boy nods. Then, he points at one particular page and the mobster starts reading again. 

_ “Grown-ups never understand anything by themselves, and it is tiresome for children to be always and forever explaining things to them.”  _

The kingpin has to laugh. He knows exactly why Martin wanted him to read this paragraph. He doesn’t understand why they can’t be together. The boy asks him regularly if he can return to Gotham soon. Oswald tried to explain, he did, but Martin just wants to be with his father. What does a child care for money, power and criminal empires? To him, Oswald isn’t the Penguin, but daddy, and he wants to go home with him. Instead, he’s being left behind at this boarding school, waiting for the weekend to finally come and his dad to share some time with him. 

That won’t last, though. Oswald knows. He’ll turn into a teenager soon and there would be parties and friends and too much money to spend on booze and girlfriends or boyfriends. Their relationship is already strained as it is, and one day Martin would stop caring if his dad makes it to New Heaven or not. 

The boy falls asleep once again but Oswald keeps reading. He wakes the other morning with the book sitting on his stomach and his child waiting for him to finally make breakfast. 

He changes into a pair of slacks and a cashmere sweater. His hair hangs down loosely and all too soon he’s covered with a fine layer of flour. He’s making pancakes with Martin like any normal single-parent would, while desperately trying to keep Martin from accidentally setting the kitchen on fire. Like any ten years old, he’s absolutely excited about doing grown-up stuff and terrible at it. 

The butter in the pan almost burns and there are traces of eggs in places Oswald can’t even remember coming close to. It doesn’t stop there. Once Martin discovers the chocolate cream, the damn thing is smeared everywhere. Oswald once decorated his hair with purple accents. Now, he’s sporting Nutella at the same place. In this kitchen, he’s not the King of Gotham but only daddy. 

And he’s genuinely happy. He isn’t lonely here in New Heaven, not at all, and still, he wishes he could share that day with someone else. This joy he’s currently experiencing is too great for one person alone. He wants to talk with someone else about how Martin finally managed to flip that pancake, looking ridiculously proud in the process. He wishes he could lean into someone else’s touch while watching his beautiful son regain his ability to communicate piece by piece. 

Martin keeps talking, slowly but with determination. He’s telling him about his week, about the other kids in his class, and how his teacher Mrs. Roughlin always smells like mothballs. He tells him that he still hasn’t found any real friends in his class. Oswald smiles while his little boy is speaking, he’s listening attentively as if those mundane events were the most important stories he’ll ever hear. Perhaps they are. 

His boy says he wants to go to the zoo with his dad. And of course, they do. He could never deny Martin anything. The boy falls asleep mere moments after arriving back at the mansion and one more sacred day with his boy has passed way too quickly. He stares at the kid’s sleeping form, wondering how he deserved to get so stupidly lucky. 

Jim Gordon would probably argue he deserves nothing of that. The gangster is a father. His little boy loves him and he loves him back. And the cop, this man who tries to save Gotham on a daily basis, lost his kid. Jim would probably tell him how unfair that is. He would probably tell him that a man like Oswald Cobblepot, a multiple-murderer, doesn’t deserve being a father whereas he had to bury his child before it was even born. Oswald wonders how he ever overcame the loss of his unborn child when all he ever wanted to be was a parent. 

The answer is, he didn’t. The pain had been writ clear on his face when the mobster accused him of being responsible for his unborn child’s death. And therefore, his behavior at the precinct when retrieving Ed still fills him with shame. Jim had never given up on a battle as quickly as back then. For one moment, the indifferent mask had crumbled, revealing raw, deep pain. 

Oswald tries picturing Jim with a kid, imagines him with a little boy on his shoulders. It’s unsurprisingly easy. A man who has so much love for a pet would have endlessly more love for a child. And he for sure would do anything in his power to protect it. More than ever, the kingpin wishes he could take his harsh words back.

Thinking about Jim, the mobster realizes how blessed he indeed is. Being a parent isn’t a burden but a gift. And this gift should be enough. 

The love his son gives him should be enough. If he was a responsible parent, he would pack a bag and leave with his kid. They could start a new life - maybe in Iceland. It’s cold enough to wear three-piece suits on a daily basis but not cold enough for his leg to get worse. Crime rates are low, his boy would be safe. 

So why doesn’t he leave? Why does he keep returning to Gotham? The truth is, Oswald fought tooth and claw to become a king. Respect had never been given to him, he earned it - through blood and pain. His own mother had died because of his ambitions.

If he would just leave, her sacrifice would mean nothing. His shattered leg would mean nothing. Each loss would mean nothing. Deep down, he’s a warrior. Nothing compares to the feeling of standing on a battle-field, only armed with a shot-gun and his untamed rage. It was that rage that enabled him to take down an entire city, to make it his own. How could he ever be anything else?

Besides, he likes being a king. All those proud dons kneeling before him, having an entire city at his beck and call, being able to order people like Zsasz around - all these things give him life. 

And he still wants more. He’s greedy, insatiable in those regards. He wants even more money, more power. He wants even the stubborn, incorrigible James Gordon dancing to his tune. 

But he wants his son, too. 

Oswald wants anything and everything. The world  _ owes  _ him. He spent his childhood in bitter poverty, barely saw his mother who worked three jobs to provide him with food, to give him a proper home. And nothing she did was ever enough in the eyes of the others. No, he got beaten up on a daily basis for daring to be different and she had been called a whore. 

Now, he feels entitled to take everything this planet has to offer. And there’s still so much more to achieve. So much more to gain. 

And yet, he’s being frowned upon. No one really appreciates what being a crime lord truly means. How many sacrifices one must make to gain such power. His leg is destroyed beyond repair and he’s suffering from anxiety attacks. He feels like he could vomit every morning, right before he downs his first whiskey. Mostly, he doesn’t sleep more than three hours per night. He’s constantly exhausted and each day could be his last. 

So no, he won’t stop before all of Gotham kneels before him. Before they  _ all _ respect him. 

He’ll leave his son a legacy, the legend of the Penguin. His boy will never have to fight his battles. One day, he’ll be Martin Cobblepot, the heir to the throne of Gotham. A legend on arrival, a man to be feared. 

Pouring himself a glass of wine, Oswald makes himself comfortable in the living room. He continues reading The Little Prince while sipping his drink. 

_ “Why are you drinking?” the little prince asked. _

_ “In order to forget,” replied the drunkard.  _

Heaving a deep sigh, the mobster closes the book. Abruptly, his self-assurance fades to nothing. Until now, Oswald didn’t even notice he hadn’t been drinking the entire day.

However, once he smells the alcohol, he devours it like a vampire sucking fresh blood. He downs glass after glass, trying to forget. Trying to forget his fears, trying to forget how his ambitions keep him from being the father Martin needs. His son doesn’t need a legend, he needs a daddy. And he certainly doesn’t need a drunkard.

His boy should be worth more than all his great plans. Deep down, he just  _ knows _ . And still, he’ll return to Gotham by Sunday and fight for more. That’s just the man he is. 

His Martin deserves a better father. He deserves the kind of parent his mother had been. His mother would have never left him behind - not for all the money in the world. But she’s gone now, can’t tell him anymore what’s wrong and what’s right. He wishes she was still there, being a grandmother for Martin.

Lighting a cigar, Oswald stares out of the window. A responsible father would give up being a king and  _ be  _ a father. He inhales the smoke deliberately. It tastes like soil, oil, and minerals. Filling his lungs with the poisonous fume, he tries picturing to be anything else but the Penguin.

He simply can’t.

His thoughts wander back to Jim. Ever since their first encounter, the man seems to be repulsed merely by his physical proximity.

Maybe Jim had always been right about him. If he can’t even give up his life of crime for his own son, he’s really the trash the cop thinks him to be. It took him only one look to figure out how utterly worthless the Penguin truly is.

Eyes brimming with tears, Oswald almost doesn’t note the sedan from earlier crawling up the street.


	6. A Safe Place

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oswald returns to Gotham and goes on a road trip with Jim.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you'll like this chapter :-) Thank you all for reading and let me know what you think!

The sedan stops not far from the Penguin’s residence. The moment a young man emerges from the car, the mobster is certain something is wrong. At first glance, he can’t exactly pinpoint why he’s so unsettled, yet he is. 

The man is in his early thirties, white. He’s got short brown hair. His haircut is elegant, tasteful, as is his gray, tight-fitting suit. Maybe it’s the car itself, the mobster muses. It’s a car for an elderly gentleman. It seems to be too big, too pompous for him. 

Also, there’s something off about his clothes. Given, they are of immaculate quality, but they seem to be wearing him. A man in such a suit should be brimming with self-confidence, yet it seems he’s wearing a disguise. He doesn’t look like a wealthy, successful businessman but rather like a high-school graduate applying for his first job.

When first sporting a tailored suit, Oswald was still lacking the arrogance that is implicitly necessary when showing off such an exclusive piece of garment. Men growing up surrounded by wealth wear such clothing as if it was their birthright and armor - and in a sense it is. But when coming from poverty, one has to shed his insecurities and grow into the suit and shoes you are now able to afford - literally. And there was a time even the Penguin used to be intimidated by luxury. 

The man on the street lights a cigarette. His eyes flicker up and down the road as if he was looking for something particular. He’s definitely nervous and the Penguin already considers getting his shotgun when a young woman walks up to him and kisses him passionately. She then pulls a slightly disgusted face and swats the hand holding the cigarette before pulling him into her house.

Oswald should probably be relieved, yet he isn’t. This car, this suit, the jittery demeanor… Of course, the man could have only been nervous because of his date but men driving such cars don’t get nervous because of a pretty woman, do they? 

Bringing the cigar back to his lips, he takes a pull. Rolling it between his fingers, his thoughts wander to Edward and his pathetic love for him. How devoted he had been back then! For Edward, he would have given up his empire willingly, would have moved to India if demanded, or crossed the Himalayas hobbling on one leg. Around Edward, he had always been unable to see what was right in front of him. This insincere promise of friendship, of having a true connection, had made him blind to the cunning, devious nature of the other man. 

Where the Penguin knows boundaries, the Riddler doesn’t. Edward had taken everything Oswald had achieved or loved at the time and smashed it to pieces. Each secret they had ever shared had been exploited to cause the maximum amount of pain. He had thrown him from his throne and humiliated him in public. And if that hadn’t been enough, he had taken Oswald’s faith, his belief in ghosts and belittled him for it. He didn’t stop there, though. Even then, Oswald had begged the other man to love him. Just a bit. How desperate he had been, how weak. 

And then he had ripped out his heart as if it was worth nothing and stomped on it. His revenge had been complete, perfect - a masterpiece, truly. Oswald almost admired Ed for it. 

Once he had thought Edward would be the other part of his soul. Now he realizes Ed doesn’t have one. Figures.

He would have never gone that far - not when it comes to the ones he deems worthy of his affection. And maybe not even when it comes to the ones he doesn’t deem worthy. This complete and utter destruction of his soul had been cruel in ways beyond imagination. Sure, he still wants revenge for his mother’s death but he doesn’t wish to destroy every piece of Tabitha’s being. Even if she’s the only person who probably deserves that amount of pain.

In front of Edward, he had been reduced to a shadow of his true self. Had that been love or dependency? If that had been love, should he not now more than ever feel the urge to leave Gotham? 

Oswald scoffs. He’s really one to wonder how a wealthy, young man can be reduced to a jittery mess in front of a beautiful woman. Not when he’s being ruled by his heart time and time again. Not if Edward’s promise of love brought him to his knees. 

And he hasn’t learned a thing. In front of Jim Gordon, he’s not acting a tad bit better. His desire to befriend with the cop had been his downfall before. And maybe their new arrangement will lead to great losses on his part again. 

At least Jim had always been sincere in his disdain for him. Jim had promised to take him down, didn’t he? And, boy oh boy, did he deliver on his promise! But did Oswald ever listen? No. Like a moth is drawn to the inevitably deadly light, he is drawn to Jim Gordon - the last honest man in Gotham. 

For some, life is a romantic comedy. For Oswald, it’s rather a Shakespearian tragedy and that’s ultimately another part of what defines him, of what he is. Or maybe it’s karma. He is aware of having his wealth gained by horrible deeds. And maybe the universe demands a price to be paid for all this power. Well, if that’s the case, he’s paying dearly. 

Straightening out his shoulders, he puts out his cigar and retreats to bed. Tomorrow evening, Martin will be brought back to the relative safety of his school. And on Monday, he’ll try to find out everything about this stranger driving the sedan. Should he mean the tiniest threat to his child, he’ll be dealt with accordingly. 

Sleep doesn’t come easy that night. Knowing a possible danger could be lurking close by, renders the mobster unable to do anything besides tossing and turning restlessly between his sheets.

He’s grateful for the rain the other day that forces him and Martin to stay inside. With a bowl of cereals in their hands, they marathon through old Disney movies and a crappy series on ghost stories for kids. 

At one point, his little one decides his dad reminds him of a vampire and Oswald ends up chasing a laughing, squealing kid around the dining table, teeth bared and growling menacingly. Hands extended, he snatches up his boy. 

“I’ll suck your last droplet of blood!” he roars, spinning Martin around gleefully, for once not caring about his aching leg. 

Having learned from the best when it comes to playing dirty, the kid twists in his grasp and starts tickling his father’s sensitive tummy.

“Mercy!” the Penguin wheezes when his son doubles his efforts. Like a true Cobblepot, he only gives up when his dad vows to surrender to the decidedly greatest vampire-hunter of all time.

 

This day doesn’t last either. Martin’s nanny arrives way too soon to take him back to his school and prepare him for the following day. Parting is never easy and it doesn’t get easier even if they both know the drill. As always, Oswald considers simply taking his son with him. There’s an entire army at his disposal so Martin should be safe, shouldn’t he? Even if knowing the boy would never be safe as long as his father rules the underworld. 

The Penguin still does the sensible thing and gets into his car before his little prince’s pleading eyes can change his mind. It’s torture, turning his back onto what’s most precious to him each and every week, knowing Martin’s absence will leave a gaping hole in his chest the moment the engine roars to life. 

He should just take everything. The crown and his heir and stop worrying. It’s a preposterous thought of course. Whatever he loved had been burnt to ashes before and if he’d ever lost Martin...Well, he would never recover from that loss. If anything ever happened to his child, he’d go to Arkham willingly and stay there for the rest of his life.

Not daring to look into the rear mirror again, he speeds away, back to Gotham, to his dog Ed, Jim Gordon, his enemies and allies and this other part of his soul, to this city that defines him and is embedded into his DNA. 

 

He gets stuck in horrendous traffic. Which isn’t only an ordeal because of his physical condition. Putting on the brakes and accelerating, again and again, is straining for his bad leg. By the time he reaches Gotham’s city limit, he’s already sweating profusely and holding on by sheer determination. On top of his pain, he’ll have to deal with the permanent curmudgeonly Captain, too. Jim won’t be pleased when the Penguin arrives late. He can already hear the man’s displeased snarl. 

On days like this, it’s difficult to deal with Jim’s temper. When Oswald doesn’t want to do anything else except for wrapping himself up in his sadness as if it was a comforting blanket and wallow in self-pity, the Captain would never hesitate to force him to be the Penguin. Jim never cared for Oswald’s pain. Except for one night maybe. The night he indulged him and allowed him his revenge on Galavan. Besides that, Jim expects him to be someone who soldiers through his pain and shoves it aside. 

Maybe he admires the cop for that trait too. Jim never pitied him. He underestimated him, he loathed him, but he never pitied him. Despite his feeble appearance, the Captain never mistook him for weak or ever regarded him as pathetic. 

He might not respect him, that’s definitely the wrong term, but to some extent, Jim values him and that’s at least something. In a time, when his life wasn’t worth more than the one of a cockroach, Jim regarded him worth saving. And even after all these years, Oswald is fairly certain he would never end his life. 

So not only is Jim the last honest man in Gotham, but he’s also the only man he feels safe being around. There’s literally no one else he trusts enough in this wicked city not to snuff his lights out if given half a chance except for this cop. 

So yes, he’s looking forward to seeing Jim and dreading it all the same. He’s too exhausted for their games tonight, too tired, and in decidedly too much pain. Oswald simply wants his dog back, crawl into bed and send his kid a message he arrived back home.

Of course, it’s not that easy. Jim greets him with his usual, pissy expression. The man is already done up for his next shift. Holding up Ed’s already packed bag, he growls at the mobster coming through his door. It’s an almost hilarious contrast to the excitedly barking pet.

“Next time, you can fetch Ed at the precinct.”

Rolling his eyes in exasperation, the gangster limps closer and yanks the bag from Jim’s hands. “Thank you, kind Captain,” he drawls, false cheerfulness dripping off his tongue. “I am sorry to inform you I got stuck in a traffic jam.”

“Could have texted,” Jim grumbles while following Oswald to his car. When the cop hands the dog over without making much of a fuss, he almost hopes Jim might let him go quickly. 

He doesn’t. 

Before Oswald has a chance to vanish in his car, Jim halts him in his tracks. “I have something for Ed,” he announces and the mobster almost groans. 

His affection for the dog might be sweet, but honestly, enough is enough. And the favor Jim will one day for sure demand for taking such good care of his furry baby, already strikes fear into Oswald’s heart. 

For a second he considers pulling Ed into his vehicle and speeding away as if the hounds of hell were after him. Unfortunately, he’ll need his dog sitter next week again. 

Jim reemerges from his flat with a very big box. No, not a box. He’s actually holding a rectangular cage in his hands. Yet cage isn’t the right word either. The thing Jim is dragging up the stairs looks like a cell at Arkham Asylum. It’s a little cell, made of carbon, complete with a padded floor. 

The Captain is holding up his latest purchase proudly. Opening the car door, he places the cage on the rear bench seat and fixes it with the seatbelt. 

The mobster cringes. “What is this abomination?” he demands to know, appalled, and Jim’s face falls. The whole man tenses up before turning towards the mobster. 

“I thought it was rather obvious,” he replies, drawing his eyebrows together and moving closer. And honestly, Jim shouldn’t be that handsome, clad in his usual black attire and wearing his shabby, worn-out shoes, and shooting Oswald a stern glare that makes him feel like a kid caught with his hands in the cookie-jar. 

There’s a natural authority to Jim, an undeniable power disguised by a veneer of false mediocrity. And sometimes, especially when he’s looking at Oswald as if he was a naughty kid, the mobster simply wants to beg the cop to bend him over the next table and show him his strength in a more favorable way. 

“It’s a transport-box,” Jim elaborates, oblivious to the gangster getting carried away by his impure thoughts. “Ed is safe in there in case of an accident. He’s able to look out while enjoying the snug feeling of a cave. I noticed you didn’t have one,” he finishes haughtily.

Snapping out of his haze, Oswald blurts out, “it looks like a prison cell. I’m not going to put my Ed into that hideous cage!”

Not intimidated in the slightest, Jim steps closer. Backing the gangster up against his car, he insists, “I made it to Gotham bay with Ed in this box without him vomiting once. We practiced driving, Ed and I. We made good progress. The box stays,” he decides and all of a sudden, the fight leaves Oswald’s body.

He’s too tired for that and too confused. On the one hand, he hates how that darn thing looks, on the other hand, it looks terribly expensive and Jim meant well. Did he really say they made it to the bay without Ed feeling sick once? 

Oswald leans back against the car, exhausted. He’s got no idea how he’ll make it home with the throbbing in his leg, and he for sure won’t make it if Jim drags him into this ridiculous fight. He should probably just thank him and leave. Or sit down on the hood and rest for a minute. 

“Okay,” he simply replies. Drawing a deep breath, he allows for his leg to dangle in mid-air. 

Closing his eyes, he waits for the pain to cease. Ed shuffles closer, nudges him with his tiny, black nose and the mobster wishes he wouldn’t be so weak. And then he wishes he could be weak for once without consequences. 

“Another cramp?” Jim asks, in his cordial, warm way. 

Oswald mutely shakes his head. “This stop-and-go-traffic took its toll on me,” he admits reluctantly. “I just need a moment.” 

He doesn’t expect Jim to invite him to his flat or to wait with him until his driver arrives. Actually, he only expects the cop to leave him standing on the street and go to work. Instead, Jim tilts his head thoughtfully before barking out his command. 

“Keys!”

The gangster’s head snaps up in confusion. His bafflement must be written on his face, cause Jim actually cares to explain. 

“I’m gonna drive you. Gimme the keys,” he grumbles, holding out his hand expectantly. 

Oswald’s first impulse is to retort with an imprudent remark yet he stops himself in time. Instead of pointing out how Jim all of a sudden degraded himself to one of his lackeys, he hands over the keys and gets in the car while the cop places Ed into his cage. 

Closing his eyes, he waits for the engine to start. “Thanks for trying to get Ed accustomed to driving,” he says softly when noticing his pet doesn’t start shaking the moment the car begins to move. 

Jim mumbles something unintelligible in response. Shooting Oswald a sideways glance, the cop grips the steering wheel tightly. He’s probably content to drive them both to the Van Dahl manor in utter silence, the mobster muses while taking the opportunity to admire Jim’s profile. 

It’s no use denying: he’s beautiful with his strong jaw-line, those well-defined cheekbones, his prominent nose, and those sideburns accentuating his face. When focused on the road, the ever-present frown between his eyebrows ceases and after a while, he starts to relax slightly.

“Well, I can’t be your dog sitter for the next twenty years or something,” Jim thinks out loud, a hint of sadness to his voice. 

Oswald snorts. “Dog’s don’t even live that long. Don’t worry, Detective.”

“Well, this one will,” Jim protests vehemently and the Penguin doesn’t have it in him to protest. “Besides,” he adds in a softer voice, “your kid might want to play with him once in a while.”

The Penguin stiffens beside him. Slowly, the dread washes over him, setting his heart racing. His silver-tongue is paralyzed, unwilling to cooperate for a moment. He tries to utter out words. Maybe he tries saying “how” or “why” but ends up making only a desperate sound. 

“If it’s any consolidation, I don’t think anyone besides me suspects anything,” Jim adds hastily when noticing the other man’s distress. 

“How?” Oswald sputters, at last, gripping the handle of his cane tightly because frankly, he needs something to hold onto. 

The Captain of the GCPD rolls his eyes and focuses back on driving. Jim never takes his eyes off the road for more than a few seconds, sticks almost religiously to the speed-limit and hardly ever overtakes other cars. It almost seems as if Jim is slightly scared of driving when not chasing a criminal. Well, the gangster he loves to chase the most is sitting beside him, so maybe he’s simply uneasy. 

“You only ever leave Gotham at the weekend and during school vacation. Doesn’t take a genius to figure out whom you’re visiting,” the cop deduces then, pleased with his train of thought. 

“I could simply be having an affair,” Oswald protests defiantly, and Jim snorts.

“What? Do you think I’m incapable of having a relationship,” the mobster argues, angry that the cop might think so. How is it for anyone unthinkable someone might love the Penguin? 

“No, I don’t think that,” Jim relents. “But who has only time on the weekend? A kid. And you leave Gotham each weekend precisely at the same time, like a clockwork. Never thought I’d say that, but maybe you should consider some unpredictability,” he finishes, expression unreadable. 

“Martin’s dead,” he insists, stomach twisting when saying those words out loud, even if they are merely a lie to protect his son.

Jim shakes his head. “We both know he’s alive and well.” Eyes trained firmly on the road he keeps driving as if that task was anything that exists in the world. 

Once again, silence stretches between the two of them, the tension is thick enough to cut it with a knife. When Jim speaks again, he’s barely audible. Yet in the limited space of the car, he still startles the mobster. “I saw you once with the kid. Heard how far you went to protect him when Pyg attacked…” 

His voice trails off as they are riding down the freeway. “You seemed to love him very much.” The Captain shifts the gear, accelerating slightly. “I think he’s lucky to have you as his father,” he whispers, not once looking at the Penguin while he speaks. 

Oswald’s chest constricts. He would have never deemed it possible Jim would tolerate or even accept his decision to adopt an orphan. Not when he always regarded him as some kind of bloodthirsty demon. And now he even considers him being a good father. He wants to press further, ask what brought on this change of mind. He doesn’t.

Instead, he turns around. Ed is sitting in his little cage quietly, not drooling nervously all over the seats for once. Jim had been right with the ugly thing. It becomes again painfully clear how much love the cop must have to offer. Buried beneath the surface of this grim, hardened man, there’s a gentle, kind soul. Oswald is sorry Gotham took this side away from him. He sees it, though. Always saw it. 

“Thank you for taking care of Ed,” he says quietly in response. “Jim?” he continues hesitantly and the cop nods in acknowledgment. “I’m sorry. About what I said at the precinct,” he clarifies, squirming uncomfortably in his seat. 

“Don’t be,” Jim cuts him off sharply. “You were absolutely right then.”

Not knowing how to reply, he stares out of the window, taking in the pitch black heaven. He’s sitting beside the last good, honest man in Gotham. He doesn’t fear for his life here. This car, right here, right now, is the safest place he’s ever been, with Jim Gordon’s steady presence right beside him. 

Oswald falls asleep to sound of the car engine’s soft rushing. 


	7. No Longer A Secret

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jim takes Oswald home. The next morning holds a dubious surprise for the Kingpin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoy this chapter :-). Thank you all for your lovely comments!

Oswald wakes to the sound of the rain hitting the windshield. He’s alone. Jim isn’t sitting beside him anymore and the complete silence tells him Ed must be gone, too. Darkness surrounds him and the only thing he sees is an enormous elder bush. 

A familiar feeling of dread washes over him and the adrenaline coursing through his veins renders him wide-awake. The Penguin is certain the traitorous cop must have driven him into the woods and took his dog.

Opening his eyes fully, he finally sees a dim light - and stairs. Breathing a sigh of relief, Oswald leans back against his seat. His home definitely needs more illumination the gangster muses. With his usual predilection for grandeur, it’s truly a shame how gloomy his castle seems to be during a dark night. 

He already wants to unbuckle his seat belt and exit the car when spotting Jim. The other man is standing in front of the entrance door where he’s busy piling up Oswald’s luggage neatly. 

The gangster would have thought if Jim ever got his hands on his personal belongings, he would treat them carelessly, or go through them with the curiosity of a policeman. He does neither of that. Jim isn’t even squeezing the bags or shaking them in order to find out what he might be transporting. No, he’s simply placing his luggage next to his entrance. 

Ed is lying beside him, watching his movements lazily. When he’s finally done, he places his paw on Jim’s foot in order to gain his attention. Chuckling, Jim takes the leash and leads the dog down the stairs while rummaging through his pockets. He whips out his phone and starts a short call while Ed lifts his leg and starts peeing. His urine hits the marble statue at the end of the staircase and Jim’s face contorts in horror. 

Oswald witnesses with increasing amusement how Jim tries pulling the dog away from the statue, yet the dog refuses to cooperate. He isn’t completely sure what the other man says to his pet but judging by his body language and the look on his face, he’s probably expecting to get shot. 

Finally, Ed has finished his business and Jim just stands there, frozen, while staring at the yellow spot decorating the once pristine surface of the statue. Sighing, he shakes his head and starts walking towards the car, jaw set tight and determination written all over his features. Oswald has to stifle a laugh at the sight. 

The cop went behind his back so often, used him as a tool, manipulated and tricked him, and now he’s afraid he’ll get in trouble for letting Ed pee against a statue? It’s ridiculous, and a tad bit endearing. 

Once again, the Penguin wonders who that other Jim is. The one who isn’t a hero trying to save a city that is corrupt to its core. He remembers Barbara and the tiny snippets she shared about Jim when being drunk and lonely and missing her former fiance. Maybe he’ll ask her the next time he meets her why she betrayed him in the first place. It never made sense, not when she’s still missing him after all those years. 

“Jimmy,” she once told him. “He never cared about his own stuff. It was always all over the place. He never treated anything that belonged to him with care. But my things...even the most insignificant nick-nacks...he’d always make sure nothing gets lost or broken.” She would huff condescendingly and trail off then, lost in some bitter-sweet memory.

The cop doesn’t it even know it, or maybe he suggests it, but it’s his fortune most of Gotham’s rogues don’t regard Jim solely as a cop. They all owe him or feel deeply for him, one way or another. That goes for him, for Barbara, for Selina, and maybe even for Ed. 

Jim might piss off a lot of people with his behavior but sometimes he would do something outstanding and earn himself eternal gratitude - like saving a snitch from his execution. Like telling said snitch he’s a good father. 

He’s almost at the car by now. Oswald expects him to yank the door open and to bark at him to wake up already. Instead, he taps the glass gently. 

“Hey sleepyhead, my cab will be there in five,” he grumbles, looking expectantly at the mobster. 

At last, the Penguin exits the car. His legs are shaky, struggling to carry his body weight. He’s feeling a bit dizzy and incredibly tired. Slowly, his physical condition is catching up with him. You can only get shot at or break your bones so often until constant pain becomes your pesky companion - and he isn’t talking solely about his bad leg. 

For a moment Oswald considers mentioning the man back in New Heaven and his bad feeling concerning him but then Jim’s heavy hand steadies him. He catches his upper arm with a rough grip that is too uncomfortable to be consoling, and the Penguin remembers who exactly he’s dealing with. 

This man is not his friend, not his partner in crime. He’s a cop. One who will work together with him if needs must, or take care of his dog because he’s lonely. Jim is not the man to turn to for discussing personal matters or vague concerns. Should Martin be in actual danger, he’ll have to deal with the threat all on his own. Gordon won’t be of any help, never was when it came to his personal affairs. 

He tamps down on the traitorous voice in the back of his mind that always told him he maybe should have turned to him the moment Galavan took his mother. The voice that tells him he would have helped the innocent woman and maybe would have been able to save her. 

He yanks his arm free and snatches the leash from Jim’s hand. “Thank you, James,” he tells him, keeping his voice deliberately neutral. 

Jim doesn’t answer, not right away. Just bores his eyes into his head as if he was reading his mind, seeing every little dirty secret with crystal clarity. He’s judging him, Oswald thinks. And his verdict isn’t positive. Never was, never will be. To Jim, he’s primarily a criminal.

“Same time next week?” he asks, already bending down to Ed for a final time. He pauses, looks up at Oswald and his voice is slightly hesitant when he speaks again. “If he isn’t accustomed to driving by then, that is,” he corrects himself. 

The mobster nods. It’s not easy being haughty when Jim is practically at his feet. It’s unsettling, and unfamiliar, too. 

He decides Ed won’t be ready for the trip by the next week anyway. This truce they are having, thanks to the pet, is too precious to be given up just yet. It’s a fragile thing, and eventually to be broken, but for now, they are not openly fighting each other, which gives Oswald the opportunity to focus on his son and his business. 

The cop rises back to his feet but doesn’t move away, just keeps standing next to the mobster, seemingly lost in his own thoughts. He feels the heat radiating off of his body and the cold rain falling down onto his head. He should probably get an umbrella and shield them both from the rain but deep down he knows even the tiniest movement would end this moment. 

Jim closes his eyes as he leans back against the car, for once at ease with the Penguin’s close proximity. He seems exhausted and maybe a bit sad. If they were friends, Oswald would ask him about it. 

He considers offering Jim a drink or being brought back to the city by his driver. It’s futile, though. He would decline, so they both wait silently for the cab to crawl up the driveway and take the cop back to where he belongs.

Oswald wants to say a lot of things at that moment. He wants to thank him for driving him home and for keeping Ed safe. This dog means a lot to him after all. It never judges, just loves him, gives him the affection he’s missing every day. The pet is a solid presence, an anchor in a stormy sea, and knowing Jim cares for him, is a big relief. 

He wants to tell him about his loneliness, about his concerns. He wishes he could confide in someone. He wants to tell him about the Riddler and how their relationship ended and ask Jim how he overcame his own broken heart. 

Of course, he doesn’t. His thoughts are jumbled, unsorted and by now he learned his lesson not to push Jim Gordon. They are not friends, he reminds himself. 

The cop shifts beside him and clears his throat. Oswald misses his warmth instantly. Maybe he does too, cause once again Jim’s gaze is a tad bit softer than usual, and he hesitates just for a second too long to walk up to the cab waiting for him. It feels like he should say something when the silence becomes uncomfortable but doesn’t know what it could be. Which is remarkable, considering who he is.

“I’ll text you whether to take him to my flat or to the precinct,” Jim tells him when finally getting into the cab and just like that, he’s gone. Oswald can’t help but feel instantly relieved.

 

“You know, I still think we should hire someone else for your dog and simply shoot Gordon,” Zsasz greets him when Oswald finally enters his home. He merely rolls his eyes and asks Olga to unpack his bags. 

“I had perfect aim,” the assassin carries on. “That man is trouble,” he finishes and the Penguin’s temper flares. Jim is his concern, his problem and should it ever be necessary, he’s the only one to deal with him. They are tied together by history, fate, and destiny itself. It’s not up to Victor to decide what happens to Gotham’s last honorable man. 

“Thank you for your input,” he drawls. “Now, back to what I actually pay you for,” he snaps back, the false, cheerful mask of the Penguin back in place. 

It hits him how he never can be Oswald around his staff, how he’s always condemned to be the King of Gotham, even and especially at his own home. 

Maybe that’s another reason for keeping Martin far away from Gotham. His son might know what and who his father is but he doesn’t get to  _ see _ it on a daily basis. He’s still innocent and maybe, just maybe, it’s better to keep it that way. 

“I have a license number for you to check out,” Oswald announces. “I need to know everything about the person driving this car by Thursday,” he orders while pushing a piece of paper into the assassin's hands. 

“Soft spot,” Zsasz mumbles when the Penguin exits the entrance hall. He considers halting in his tracks and reprehending the other man, yet it’s no use. He’s right anyway and pretending otherwise will only confirm the other man’s suspicions. 

 

The Penguin doesn’t have to wait until Thursday before Zsasz has any results on the man staying so close to his son. Not when the object of his concerns turns up on his doorstep the very next morning. 

This time, the young man is even more skittish than the first time he saw him on the street in front of his house in New Heaven. The sheer audacity to come to the Penguin’s home is unheard of - and so very convenient. He could remove the possible threat by a snap of his fingers and sink the man’s body into the Gotham river. He would be never heard of again, never be talked about again. 

Still, every corpse is a risk, a possible reason for heading back to Arkham and never leaving this hell again. Besides, he’s a danger to his newfound alliance with James Gordon, too. This insignificant boy isn’t worth jeopardizing his empire. At least not before he has been given a chance to speak. 

Oswald makes him wait while styling his hair and deciding on his clothing. It was Fish who taught him how to make an entrance and how to put people into their place by his appearance. She had been a true queen, a force of nature not even death could stop. But Jim Gordon could. 

It should be embarrassing how often Oswald’s thoughts wander to the harsh cop nowadays. He remembers Fish’s last moments, the feeling of her body in his arms when taking her last breath. Everything considered a lot of people perished beneath his hands - unique and replaceable ones. 

One day, he might end up like Fish. They might even share the same cause of death. It’s quite likely, isn’t it? He remembers when Jim lost control when he simply raged like an animal, a true monster, a victim to his urges and desires. Even then he didn’t bring himself to truly hurt him. He knows it’s probably because Harvey stopped him. Yet still, he sometimes likes to think it’s because he means something to Jim, because he’s one of his unique people, too.

More likely, it’s just a happy coincidence. One of the many coincidences regarding Jim Gordon that keep the man alive and the Penguin forgiving him all his faults despite his better knowledge. 

Heaving a sigh, he takes his seat on his throne. Today, he’s dressed in black from head to toe, only his purple brocade-cravat adds a flash of color to his outfit. The effect isn’t missed. He hasn’t even uttered a single word before the man starts sweating profusely. 

“What gives you the impression you would be welcome at my home?” Oswald demands to know, flashing the poor lad a sharkish grin.

He gapes like a fish dropped on land in the face of the Penguin. Good, he thinks, already licking his lips. This is easy, this pathetic fool won’t be a threat to anyone. 

The man, some Brian Gold, starts rambling, explaining. He’s a drug dealer for the Martinellis. His girlfriend lives in New Heaven and he visits her every weekend, staying so close to the Penguin’s residence is merely a coincidence and he won’t be bothering the kingpin ever again. In fact, Brian wants to leave Gotham. He’s saved enough money to start over with his woman and he’d appreciate it very much if the Penguin would let him live until next week. He promises they’d be both gone by then. And no, he has no idea what the Penguin is doing in Connecticut and he doesn’t even want to.

Oswald listens to man’s ramblings with mixed feelings. On the one hand, he desperately wants to believe him. It’s the perfect solution to his problem. The man is simply in a quite similar situation as himself. On the other hand, there’s something rat-like, insincere about him. He’s acting too harmless, too innocent to be believed. It reminds him of himself in his early days, when his alleged innocence would fool almost anyone around him. His gut tells him to just stab him right then and there. 

And if he’s wrong? Being a mobster means living with constant paranoia. A paranoia that would keep one alive but could also lead to one’s downfall. The stakes are too high. Gotham has never been quieter, business is running just fine and he and Jim are getting along. The oaf isn’t worth risking any of that. 

And still, his secret is out in the open. His safe haven isn’t safe anymore and everyone knows two people can only keep a secret if one of them is dead. 

But then would a minor drug dealer truly dare going up against the King of Gotham? The thought alone is ridiculous. Besides, he doesn’t even seem to know about Martin. Yet, he could probably find out easily enough. 

Oswald dismisses him despite his doubts. He could handle this idiot in his sleep anyway he tells himself. He’ll simply have to bring more weapons the next time or relocate. Or maybe this is just fate’s way of telling him that Martin would never be truly safe anywhere and that he should just simply keep his son at his side where he belongs.

Pouring himself a drink, the mobster considers another option. Despite all his mistakes, he doesn’t truly believe James would seriously entertain the thought of using a little boy as leverage against the Penguin. Maybe he should simply tell him about his exact whereabouts and… And then what? Hope for Jim to come and rescue him and Martin if the situation would ever spiral out of control? 

The mobster snorts. He isn’t some pathetic damsel in distress in need of a big hero. No, he’s Oswald Cobblepot, crime lord supreme. The one who outsmarted Falcone, Maroni, Mooney and countless others. And now he’s worried about some sorry drug dealer?  


	8. A Hollow Victory

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oswald is worried about his son. Jim is getting his life in order.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all your comments! They mean the world to me :-)

The week passes way too quickly and not at all at the same time. Oswald is becoming more and more agitated with each passing day. Despite telling himself over and over again that that man isn’t a threat to his boy, he’s anxious and irritable. By Wednesday he’s convinced the thug has informed the syndicate he works for about Martin, and his son is about to get kidnapped any second.

His little prince had been kidnapped before. Ever since, Martin is on alert, watches his back and would definitely notice if anyone was following him.

A pang of guilt stabs Oswald’s heart. The little boy shouldn’t know what it means to be the victim of a crime. He shouldn’t have to watch out for shady figures hiding in the dark. He shouldn’t be the son of a crime lord but of loving, ordinary parents. Fear shouldn’t be his constant companion.

This little kid deserves so much better. Yet he chose Oswald to be his father and now he’s too weak to do the right thing and turn away from him again. He’s also too weak to give up on his empire. And now Martin could be in danger again.

If anything happened only Oswald would be to blame. And Jim considers him a good parent? He jeopardizes his kid’s life on a daily basis for money and power. The Captain would never do that. Jim Gordon, the golden boy, he would only endanger one life to save thousands. Unlike him, he isn’t selfish. The sacrifices this man makes are only ever made for the greater good. And while Jim lost his child, Oswald gained the love of his little prince. How he even deserves this gift is beyond him. It’s a love he doesn’t even deserve, not when he isn’t capable to respond to it.

His pride keeps him from turning to the only honest man he knows for help. His paranoia keeps him from consulting his employees. He’s stuck between a rock and a hard place and has no idea how to get out.

Yet outwardly, everything looks fine. His son is visiting school, complaining about his boring history lessons, and the uncomfortable beds at the boarding school. He’s already looking forward to the weekend when his dad comes back. And no, he hasn’t noticed anything unusual.

Maybe it’s all in the Penguin’s head. Maybe Martin is safe and sound and Brian Gold will be gone by the end of the week and he’s beating himself up for nothing. Maybe… Yet his gut tells him otherwise and his gut is rarely wrong.

By Thursday, Oswald can’t wait any longer. He texts Jim rather curtly that he’ll be bringing Ed to his place earlier than agreed upon. He’s dead set on picking up Martin from school by himself and guarding his boy himself.

If necessary, he’ll rip this Brian apart with his bare teeth if he as much as thinks about touching a hair on his boy’s head. And if his death would attract Jim’s attention, then so be it. His mother has died beneath his hands already, his son won’t follow her.

Thankfully, Jim doesn’t put up a fight, simply tells him to drop by his flat at any time. The gangster frowns. Jim Gordon, workaholic extraordinaire, has taken another day off? Yet it’s not the time to dwell on such facts. Not when he’s simply relieved Ed is going to be in capable hands while he’s taking a threat down. 

He arrives at Jim’s place at ten in the morning, in a cranky and slightly aggressive mood. Even Ed feels his owner’s temper, for the dog isn’t quietly sitting in the car. Despite his little cage he’s whining and barking almost constantly. Oswald can’t help it: he screams at his dog to shut up while hitting the steering-wheel forcefully. 

The pet whimpers and curls up into a ball while panting and licking his lips nervously. The gangster feels guilty but is unable to stop himself. He feels it in his bones: Martin is in danger and he needs to be in New Heaven right now. 

When Gordon opens the door for him, Oswald is ready to tear their fragile truce to the ground. Whatever happens, this is the last time anyway the Captain will be taking care of Ed.

And isn’t that Jim’s fault? He trained the dog on how to endure a car-drive. For all Oswald cares, he can watch over him for a final time, collect the favor he for sure will claim, and disappear from his life again. It’s not like he needs Jim Gordon or his friendship. And after the weekend he won’t even need him to guard his pet.

In fact, he never needed him. The realization hits him like a truck. He only ever _wanted_ Jim. The man is definitely a sight for sore eyes and he’s decidedly got a good heart. A heart that would never beat for him. Oswald was simply _lusting_ after him all these years and now that he truly understands that, where’s the point?

Pushing past Jim, he drops Ed’s bag on the ground, ready to leave instantly when finally taking in the Captain’s wretched state. No wonder the fine policeman decided to stay at home. His right eye has a nasty black color, there are bruises along his jaw, the skin on his hands is battered, and he’s hunched slightly forward. 

“Brawl at the bullpen,” he informs gruffly. “Decided it was a well enough reason to take three days off.”

Collapsing on his sofa, he waits for Ed to jump into his lap. Relieved to get away from his agitated owner, he does just that, and starts licking the cop’s hand. Jim pulls his arm away and pats his head. “Na, na, you shouldn’t do that,” he chides gently and the gangster almost explodes.

“You are in no fit state to guard my pet,” he snarls angrily. “Irresponsible as always,” he carries on, hardly holding himself back from screaming at the cop. Now he not only has to worry about Martin but about his pet, too. Jim looks like crap and can hardly move. How on earth will he be able to keep Ed in check? He’ll lose his dog again, Oswald is certain of that.

To his credit, Jim stays calm. He simply gives the kingpin a bored once over while continuing to scratch Ed behind his ears. The dog is still slightly unsettled but becoming calmer in the other man’s presence.

“My ribs aren’t even broken,” he retorts flatly. “I can assure you, I am perfectly capable of walking to the park and back.” Getting up, he hobbles slowly to the kitchen and fills Ed’s water bowl.

“You are _limping_ ,” Oswald snaps back and Jim stares at him incredulously before breaking out in loud laughter.

“You didn’t just really say that?” the cop asks, still giggling gleefully.  

Ignoring him, the crime-lord leans over the kitchen-counter and flashes his teeth at the cop.

“If that was true, you’d still be working,” he argues angrily.

Jim huffs. “Shouldn’t you be happy I’m staying in the entire weekend? Lowers the chances I’ll be taking Ed to a shootout that way,” he teases while placing a chicken on the counter and starting the oven.

Oswald examines the raw meat as well as the kitchen skeptically. He already wants to remark how something like chicken, prepared in Jim’s dirty home, will probably get his dog killed.

That is until he notes how immaculate the place in fact is. Not only did Jim buy a new sofa but also an entirely new kitchen. Gone are the shabby, white cupboards, decorated with dried sauces. In their place are rather nice, modern looking gray ones, as well as a bright-red fridge, and a new oven. It doesn’t stop there. The entire place is different: clean, cozy, well-furnished.

“Did you finally found out about Ikea-catalogues?” Oswald asks in bewilderment and Jim rolls his eyes.

“I decided this place needs some new furniture and cleaning,” he mumbles while dropping the meat into boiling water. Averting Oswald’s eyes, he turns around and washes his hands, wincing when the water comes into contact with his bruises.

“I can see that,” the gangster comments drily. “I’m almost not even afraid of getting a deadly disease in your home.”

Jim snorts in response and continues cleaning his fingernails. “When I first brought Ed here, he didn’t even want to jump onto my couch.” The cop pauses. His shoulders tense as if debating whether he should keep talking.

“I could see he wasn’t feeling comfortable here,” he continues for no known reason. “That changed when I started tidying the place…” Jim’s voice trails off.

Still not looking at the criminal he dries his hands. “And I thought...How am I living if not even a dog wants to stay here? So I bought a new sofa.” 

“You bought a sofa so _a_ _dog_ would lie on it?” Oswald’s mouth drops open. 

“I bought a sofa, and a new kitchen, and carpets cause this place looked like shit,” he states vehemently, for once dropping the stoic facade. “I just needed the dog to show me,” he whispers. 

“And I’m staying in cause I’ve got the shit beaten out of me. And with your dog by my side, I have more to live for than the GCPD and swallowing way too many pain-killers.” Jim’s hands drop to his side. He opens his mouth as if he was surprised himself he confessed that much to the gangster. Or maybe there’s something else he wants to say.

Instead, he closes off again. The kingpin blinks, for once unsure what to say. This is decidedly unlike Jim. He probably doesn’t even expect him to respond. The part of him that admires Jim, the one that always wanted him to be his friend, yearns to console him, to tell him everything will be alright.

The little vindictive leprechaun in his soul rejoices at seeing the other man finally admitting how miserable and lonely his life had become. He can destroy him right now. No, he will destroy him by next week when no longer bringing Ed to his place. Oswald knows what it means to lose something that means a lot for good. Withholding the dog from him will crush him. Sure, Jim could get his own pet. But he won’t. Not with the job he has. And doesn’t he deserve it after all the times he wronged him?

Oswald always wanted Jim to admit how his quest to fight all evil in Gotham took its toll on him. And here they are at last. It’s a surprisingly hollow victory.

But a victory is a victory and Oswald could never stop himself from twisting the knife if given the chance. So he can’t help himself saying, “I’m glad to hear that old friend. And you’ll be relieved to learn that you’ll be having even more time in the near future to renovate your apartment. I guess I’ll be able to take him with me by the end of next week.”

Jim nods mutely, even bestows a little smile upon the gangster at that. “He’ll be much better off with your kid anyway,” he concedes, already walking towards the door and opening it for the gangster.

“Have a safe drive,” he tells him, unusually polite.

Only back in the car Oswald starts truly wondering about the other man’s odd behavior. Jim didn’t ask him why he had been in such a hurry all of a sudden. Shouldn’t he suspect he’s up to something shady again? He had expected to fight off a torrent of nosy questions. Instead, he had simply accepted the kingpin’s change of plans. There hadn’t even been a single insult. Maybe Jim’s himself up to something.

He forces himself not to think about Jim’s antics and focuses on getting to New Heaven as fast as possible. Martin texting him the gym lessons won’t take place due to his teacher being sick renders him even more nervous. He catches himself pushing down on the accelerator and racing to the place uncaring for any speed limits. Jim would not be satisfied with him, that’s for certain.

Despite his best efforts, he still arrives late. He’s about twenty minutes away from the school when Martin informs him his nanny is already there and they are both awaiting him at the mansion. Cursing loudly, he turns the car. He hasn’t informed his boy or his employee about his concerns, still hoping his worries would turn out to be uncalled for.

The adrenaline rushing through his veins tells him otherwise though. He just _knows_ by now he had been wrong to let this Brian walk away. This decision had been a mistake, made under the terrible influence of Mr. Goody Two-Shoes for sure. How could he have been so stupid?  

He makes it to the house at lightning speed. When getting out of the car, he already knows something is wrong. The Penguin can practically taste it in the air. Usually, the curtains are open and Martin’s nanny is being visible from the street, preparing something in the kitchen. 

Today, the curtains are closed and the lights above the door are off. Oswald grabs his shotgun from the backseat, extra ammunition, and his handgun. If this Brian survives his first attack, he’ll merrily torture him for days in the basement.

Gritting his teeth, the Penguin steps over the threshold. To his utter horror, his worst nightmares are already coming true when peering around the corner. Martin’s nanny is lying unconsciously on the living room’s floor. She had been bound and gagged, but to his relief,  she’s still breathing. At least he won’t have to explain to Martin why his nanny isn’t coming back. 

Grabbing the shotgun tightly, he makes his way cautiously through the house. Martin is smart, he’s clever. Maybe he could escape the attack somehow? His faith wavers when hearing a scream from the upper floor and the sound of shattering glass.

Not wasting any time, he hurries upstairs and opens the door to his son’s room. 

“Martin!” he calls, horrified when seeing his son struggling against Brian’s firm grasp. Never one to be a coward, the kid locks eyes with his dad and bites firmly down on the hand holding him. He then jumps onto his bed and makes a run for his father. Only when the boy is safely behind his back, Oswald shoots. 

He misses the intruder in his haste, which gives the thug a chance to pull his own weapon. Only concerned with his boy’s safety, the kingpin slams the door shut. Grabbing his kid’s hand, he starts running downstairs to his study, already searching his pockets frantically for the key to the panic room hidden beneath his desk. Above him, he hears Brian kicking the closed door open. 

It doesn’t matter, Oswald thinks. Martin will already be in safety by the time Brian has reached them. Diving beneath his desk, he unlocks the door to his secret shelter.

“Quick, get in there,” he hollers, holding out his hand for his boy. To his utter astonishment, Martin refuses to move. His eyes dart nervously from the locked door behind him to his dad and back again.

Losing his patience, Oswald hobbles over to his kid and starts dragging him towards his desk. Yet the kid doesn’t cooperate, simply digs his heels into the ground, and stays perfectly still.

“Martin, we don’t have time for this,” the kingpin shouts, shaking the kid’s shoulder forcefully. “You need to get in there, right NOW!”

In response, the little boy wraps his arms tightly around the mobster’s bad leg, causing him to yelp in agony. Oswald’s knee buckles beneath him from the unexpected pain and he crashes to the ground.

Snarling furiously, he pulls himself together and tries getting up again. “Release me at once,” he growls. “And get in there!”

Finally, Oswald manages to stand up again. Yet his weapon is down on the floor and Martin is still firmly plastered to his bad leg. Wincing, the mobster tries bending forward and reaching his shotgun.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” he grouses. “Get into the safe room,” he repeats frantically.

Martin only shakes his head. “You’ll send me away again,” he stammers out. “You’ll send me through the hole in the floor and send me away,” he repeats in his tiny, panicked voice.

Oswald curses. This situation must remind him of the time Sofia tried to kill him. When he faked his kid’s death and tried getting him to safety afterward. Back then, he also asked him to crawl through a door in the ground.

“I promise, I won’t,” Oswald vows, already hearing Brian’s steps approaching. “Please, just get in there,” he begs, petrified. “I’ll never send you away again, but please, get in there now.”

In response, Martin simply tightens his hold on him. Hot pain rushes through his leg, almost rendering the crime-lord motionless. Only his willpower keeps him from doubling over in agony.

And then it’s too late.

The door opens and the thug saunters into the room, grinning like the Cheshire cat. “Now that’s cute,” he remarks spitefully, already aiming his gun at the pair 

The Penguin pulls his handgun and trains it at the man.

“Tzk,” Brian chides. “I wouldn’t do that if I were you. I’m aiming directly at the miniature penguin’s head, and I swear I’ll take him to the grave with me.”

Considering the man’s words and their sincerity for a moment, Oswald finally lowers his gun. He isn’t going to gamble with his son’s life. 

“I should have cut off your head when I had the chance,” he presses out through gritted teeth. 

“We all make mistakes.” Brian shrugs, driving the Penguin mad with his nonchalant behavior. 

“What do you want?” he asks, suppressing a pained cry when Martin digs his little nails deep into his flesh in his distress.

“I told you,” the man responds. “I want to leave Gotham for good this weekend. I simply need some money to start over,” he explains as if that was the most obvious thing in the world.

“So you decided to kidnap my son.” The Penguin snorts. “And you think you’ll walk away with my money alive?”

“No,” Brian shakes his head. “I’ve been watching you coming here for months. When you finally noticed me, I knew it was time. I knew I had to catch the kid before you arrive here. I have to admit, if you had been here earlier, I’d probably be dead. Well, I suppose fate favors the bold.” 

The mobster cringes at hearing the words he said himself so many years ago being directed at him. Oswald wants to vomit. Brian ignores him, just carries on. 

“I want one million. I’ll shoot _you_ , though,” he states matter of factly. “You’ll have to admit, I truly have no other choice. The money will only ensure the kid’s safety.” He nods at Martin. “You have a phone. Transfer the money to my account and I’ll aim a bit higher once you're done.” Brian smiles self-confidently gain. 

The Penguin gapes wordlessly at the man.

“Easy and effective, right?” he continues. “If Gotham taught me one thing, it’s how overly complicated plans go mostly south. Oh, and before you wonder: I killed kids before. His young age won’t hold me back. I never even understood how kids should be worth more than grown-ups.” Sighing, he stares expectantly at the Penguin.

Licking his lips, Oswald tries to evaluate the man’s words. Beside him, Martin starts sobbing while hugging his leg desperately. If he could only loosen his grasp and let him think!

“Hurry up,” Brian urges.

“And if I refuse?” he asks despite knowing the answer.

“Easy. I’ll shoot you both,” the man states. “But I’d rather only kill you and let the boy walk away.”

“How would I know you are going to do that?” Oswald asks haughtily, despite his own crippling fear. It’s not him he fears for, he notes. He accepts his fate, is calm, even. But he has to know his son will walk away from this unscathed.

“You won’t. But if you don’t take out your phone in the next two minutes I’ll shoot the little one in the head for sure. So either you take your chance or leave it. Besides, as soon as I have what I want, I won’t care less for the Baby-Penguin.”

Oswald’s mind, this effective machine that hardly ever fails him, stutters to a halt. His mother had been stabbed the last time he thought he could outsmart the person holding what was most precious captive. And now his boy shall die in his arms too? He’s the only family he will ever have, everything that counts now.

He finds himself nodding his consent. Yes, he’ll die by this worthless scums hand and come back from the dead if he shouldn’t keep his end of the bargain. The deal sounds fair, even. His life and money for Martin - an innocent kid. No, the deal is not fair. He’s worth infinitely more. Oswald knew he shouldn’t have adopted the child, shouldn’t have tainted his pure, little soul. He deserves to die, for this crime alone.

His voice is distant, contorted, disembodied when he asks the man about the account number. His fingers tremble only slightly when he starts typing.

This is going to be alright. Martin is going to be fine. He can barely hear his son’s desperate sobs by now. “Daddy, please no,” he whimpers.

Oswald pats his head. “It’s going to be fine. Everything is going to be alright,” he repeats over and over again, like a broken record. “I love you,” he tells his boy firmly. “Love you so much,” he mumbles.

“I’m touched,” Brian drawls nastily.

Looking up, Oswald already wants to hit “send” when his eyes widen in surprise.

Jim Gordon is standing behind the thug. He raises his finger to his lips, asking the mobster mutely to stay silent. Oswald nods, dazed, and then Jim raises his gun and knocks the guy out cold.


	9. My Knight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oswald is determined to kill Brian. Jim can't allow to let that happen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for your encouragement!! Without you, I wouldn't be writing this story (definitely not this weekend though. My week was crazy.) I hope you'll like the next bit :-) Thank you all!

Oswald can’t move. For one blissful moment, there’s only gratitude and relief. His little boy, his beautiful son, his Martin, is safe.

He stares directly into Jim’s bright blue eyes, into the eyes of the last honest man in Gotham, maybe into the eyes of the last honest man in the entire country, and he’s back in his car, driving home with Jim Gordon.

Nothing bad will ever happen as long as he doesn’t leave the car. They are riding through the darkness, a darkness that stretches endlessly, but inside their little cocoon, it’s warm and safe. Nothing will hurt them here. Nothing will ever hurt his boy as long James Gordon is around. Jim, his knight, his savior. For once, Oswald has nothing to fear.

His little boy hugs him more tightly, clings to him as if the world is going to end, and maybe it is. The world might be burning around them but what does it matter? Jim Gordon is about to bring back the light anyway. The kingpin could cry.

Jim Gordon came through the darkness to save the only family Oswald has left. Martin is worth more than anything, and Jim, the cop, the man who betrayed him, the man who brought him down, the man who took his empire from him, gave him back what is worth more than the entire universe.

At this moment, Oswald doesn’t care why and how Jim is here. He just _is_ , and that’s more than enough.

He swallows hard and pulls his boy into a tight hug. Martin is still breathing, still moving beneath his hands. His little boy is still his, and he’s not doomed to feel the sticky wetness of blood coating his fingers.

The Penguin doesn’t notice the tears streaming down his face, not when he’s still allowed to be with his son. He’s numb to the pain, doesn’t even feel giving his leg out beneath him.

Jim comes closer. He doesn’t talk, but his blue eyes are mesmerizing. Oswald can’t break eye-contact. Looking at him for so long feels like staring into a deep blue abyss. An abyss filled equal parts with rage and compassion.

The cop kneels down before him until he’s at eye-level with his little son. Jim, his knight in shining armor, starts talking. At first, the criminal can’t hear him over the sound of his own pounding heart.

Oswald gasps and grips the table in front of him for support. He’s weak as a kitten but that’s okay. Jim will take care of them. Jim will drive the monsters away, just like he drove Galavan away.

“I’m Jim,” he says, voice insecure and wavering slightly.

Martin’s eyes snap up and he looks at the man he encountered when the Pyg held him hostage.

“You must be Martin,” he carries on with a small smile and his boy nods hesitantly.

“Seems like you got a strong grip,” he tells the kid jokingly. “What do you say, young man,” Jim proposes. “Maybe you release your dad’s leg, hmm?”

The cop stares expectantly at the mobster’s child but Martin doesn’t let go.

“I know you are afraid,” Jim tries to soothe him. “But the man who threatened you and your dad is unconscious. He won’t hurt you anymore. I’ll make sure of that, okay?”

The kid looks up, searches Oswald’s face, and the mobster nods. “It’s okay,” he wants to say, but he can’t.

“You’re hurting your dad,” Jim tells his boy. And what madness is this? Martin isn’t hurting him, he never could. It’s only his bad leg that isn’t able to support his weight. Nothing hurts, not when his boy is alive and well.

Oswald doubles over, finally brought down by a cramp he didn’t even feel until it was too late.

“I promise I won’t let happen anything to your dad either,” Jim promises. “I’ll keep you and your dad safe. You can release him now,” he adds, nodding encouragingly.

Looking up at Oswald he mumbles, “I won’t allow another kid to become an orphan again.” His voice is so quiet, he isn't even sure he heard him correctly.

The kid finally loosens his grasp on the mobster’s leg. Oswald takes a deep breath. As the pain slowly subsides, the situation comes crashing down on him with crystal clarity: the man lying unconsciously on the floor was about to kill him and his boy, Jim is there for no good reason, saving them, and the pain in his leg is excruciating.

He’s about to start screaming when Brian starts regaining his consciousness behind Jim’s back. For someone who’s received a hit to the head, he’s moving astonishingly fast. The thug jumps to his feet and turns, obviously trying to flee.

And that’s about the time the Penguin’s higher brain functions shut down.

Oswald lunges forward, reaching for his shotgun. This man, Brian, he won’t get away with what he did. Nobody who threatens his precious son is allowed to walk away alive, and today is decidedly no day for exceptions.

“Stop,” the Penguin shrieks, already firing at the man’s back. Brian ducks, and then jumps back up. He’s running towards the exit, clearly terrified. Oswald doesn’t care - he only wants his death.

“No,” Jim hollers distantly, but the kingpin ignores him. He aims again, more precisely this time, and shoots.

Brian Gold has to die. Oswald would do anything to keep his boy safe - and if he’d have to kill God himself to achieve his goal, then so be it. He’s dead set on extinguishing this man’s life, even if a policeman should be his witness.

Something grabs his arm and his next shot hits the wall. Brian yelps, shocked, and Oswald roars furiously.

“Oswald, don’t,” Jim bellows, horrified, while the thug tries to disappear through the nearest door. He stumbles and crashes to the ground.

The Penguin follows him, already raising his gun again. Before he’s able to shoot, the cop catches him around the waist. Holding him tightly, he tries to reason with him.

“You can’t kill him like that,” he states with conviction, already reaching for Oswald’s shotgun.   

The mobster twists and turns in his grasp, ready to fight his way out of Jim’s arms.

“He tried to kill my son,” he cries, struggling against the cop’s unyielding hold.

“Yeah,” Jim agrees. “He _tried_ ,” he emphasizes. “Your boy is fine,” the other man reassures him.

“I can’t let him walk away like that. I won’t _allow_ it,” Oswald argues, reaching for his weapon once more.

Jim swats it away.

“ _Almost_ did,” he growls in response, shaking the mobster slightly.

“What if he comes back?” Oswald screeches. “I need my boy to be safe!”

“We’ll call the local police,” Jim suggests desperately. “He’ll go to Blackgate and never hurt Martin again,” he vows.

The kingpin snorts in response. He’s the King of Gotham, the lord of all crime, and he shall allow a man who went up against his only family left to go to prison? Unharmed?

“You know I can’t do that.” The Penguin shakes his head, slightly bemused.

“Oswald, you can’t kill a man before my eyes,” Jim grouses, pushing him up against the wall. His head hits the surface behind him with a loud thud.

“Why not,” the mobster demands to know. “Are you the only one who’s allowed to shoot a man in the head without fearing the consequences?”

Jim’s eyes widen in surprise. He steps back. Releasing the gangster, he swallows hard. “Be reasonable, Oswald,” he tells him quietly. “I’m still a cop. I can’t simply unsee you committing murder. What do you expect me to do? Hmm? Shall I hide the body with you? Do you really want to murder a man in front of your son?”

“I’m trying to protect my kid!” Oswald explodes. “I don’t care if I go to prison or not as long as my kid is safe!” he hollers, forgetting himself entirely.

The cop gulps. Holding up his hands placatingly, he takes another step back. “Oswald,” he whispers. “Your boy _is_ safe. I swear, I won’t allow this man to touch him. But if you shoot him right before my eyes, I’ll have to testify. You’ll go to _prison_ , Oswald. And your boy needs you. Please, just call the police.”

“So he can walk away unscathed? I think not,” he snorts. Slowly, he pulls his handgun and aims it at the scumbag’s head.

Losing his patience, Jim steps between the thug and Oswald.

“I’ll kill you, too,” the mobster threatens lowly. He barely notes his boy crying silently beside him.

“You won’t,” Jim states firmly.

“How would you know that?” Oswald snaps back.

“I do,” the cop reassures him. “I trust you with my life. Always did. Whenever things spiral out of control, I turn to you. I trust you to make the right decisions. But right now, you have to trust _me_. Please, keep your emotions in check. I know how much you care. I see it. But I can’t just allow you to kill this man.”

Oswald knows this game they are playing. Their game of push and pull. He's bargaining with Jim again, negotiating their next deal.

Slowly, the rage in his veins threatens to overpower him. This, this is the favor Jim wants for taking care of Edward. He should have known all along he'll demand something he's unwilling to give. He's not going to cave in just now.

“Keep my emotions in check?” The Penguin smiles cruelly. “You mean like _you_?”

Jim nods frantically, desperately. He is who he is, the golden boy of Gotham, the man who can never simply step aside and allow the Penguin to reign. It's infuriating.

But if he's such a sincere man, why did he murder Galavan? Why did he have him let his revenge then? And how could he turn away from him afterward and let him rot in Arkham? The answer is simple.

“You, you don’t have any emotions,” the Penguin spats. “You are as stoic as a zombie,” he accuses. “No wonder it's so easy for you if there's nothing to hold in check.” He snickers like a madman, like the crazed psychopath he is.

Maybe he is losing his mind.

“You’ll lose everything that counts, again” Jim snaps back, unmoving.

“What would you know about loss?” he cries. And what does he really know? Has Jim held his dying mother in his arms? Did he build and lose an empire? Does he know the feeling of getting betrayed by the one he thinks he loves? Did he almost lose his child?

Oswald pauses. Yes, Jim knows what it means to lose a child. He should. Even if he never met his kid, it was still his. So why doesn’t he understand?

“You let me have my revenge before,” Oswald hollers. “Let me have it again. Step aside and let me do what has to be done. Let me do the dirty work you are always too much of a coward for. Like on the day we shot Galavan.” By now, he’s openly crying. He feels the wetness, the tears streaming down his face, the salt biting his skin.

Scooting a hand through his hair, Jim licks his lips. “Martin is _alive_. He’s alright. Please,” he begs.

But he could have, the mobster wants to say. He could have died just like his mother did, and in his insanity, he isn’t sure Martin is still truly by his side. The past came back to haunt him, to take his family from him and he just has to… He has to… He doesn’t know what he has to do except for killing Gallavan. No, Brian. He’s called Brian.

There are tears on Jim’s face, too. But Oswald doesn’t care. He doesn't _want_ to care. Jim might be right, but that doesn’t change anything. There’s only one way he’ll let Brian walk away. Jim has to beg for his life. He has to ask him for it. Like all those times before.

Everything clicks into place and the Penguin decides how Jim can have his way.

“Say it,” the mobster whispers suddenly and the cop stares at him in confusion.

“Say what?” he asks.

“Ask me for a favor,” he challenges, sounding completely crazed, even to his own ears. Present and past are merging, he’s unable to differ then from now, and it shows. He’s unable to stop himself, though.

“You always only want me to grant you a favor. Ask me to spare his life in exchange for something worth my revenge,” he demands.

He stares directly into Jim’s huge, scared eyes. He’s petrified, Oswald can tell. The last good man in Gotham shall bargain for a scumbag’s life like all those years ago on a cold, windy pier. He breathes in and the tension in Jim’s shoulders eases.

“No,” he states. “I don’t want any more favors. If I can’t convince you the way I did, shoot me too. I won’t be able to lie for you, you should know that by now. I’m…” His voice breaks off. “I’m not that kind of man,” he admits ruefully.

“So you’ll die for a man you don’t even know? A man who would have killed an innocent child?” The Penguin raises his chin defiantly as his grasp around his gun tightens. Martin tugs his wrist, trying to get his attention but he ignores him.

“You don’t get it,” Jim snorts. “I’d die so I wouldn’t have to arrest you.” His eyes are pleading, begging Oswald to understand. The last good man in Gotham doesn’t ask him for a present, he offers him one.

And wouldn’t it be the solution to all of his problems? Jim had been an obstacle time and time again, the only worthy opponent, the only one who never looked away and let him be the Penguin. He can kill two birds with one stone.

“Shoot me, too, and your kid keeps his dad. Or stop this madness and let New Heaven’s police do their job.” He's staring impatiently at the Penguin, challenging him to make his next move.

Finally, Oswald lowers his gun. He looks down at Brian, at this useless piece of dirt. The man is paralyzed by fear, silently awaiting his verdict.

“Run,” the kingpin mutters. “Run, and never come back. If you ever return to Gotham or here, nobody will ever find you,” he vows. Brian doesn’t have to be told twice. He's gone before the crime lord has put his gun away.

 

“Happy now?” he snarls venomously.

Jim breathes a sigh of relief. “No,” he answers dryly. “But content.”

Martin reaches for his father’s arm and Oswald snaps out of his rage. He allows himself to sit down on the chair behind him and pulls his son into his lap. Hugging the traumatized boy tightly, he starts rocking the kid in order to calm him down.

From the corner of his eye, he observes Jim leaving the room. “Where are you going?” he mumbles. He isn’t sure the cop will answer.

“Gonna get Ed and untie your employee,” he responds curtly.

“You brought him with you?” he asks incredulously, eliciting a little huff from the other man in the process.

“I couldn’t leave him in my apartment, could I?”

His hold around Martin tightens as he looks up. Whatever Jim sees on his face, he stops it before Oswald has a chance to start.

“Don’t give me a lecture on how pets are not supposed to stay in a car. It’s neither warm nor especially sunny and I suppose the circumstances were a bit exceptional.” He arches a challenging eyebrow at the mobster while already turning on his heel.

Well, the kingpin can’t argue with that. So he shuts it and watches the cop slowly hobbling out of the room, taking care of the mess this day has become. For someone claiming he isn’t his underling, he recently acts a lot like one.

New Heaven isn’t safe anymore, that’s for certain. Martin must think so too, cause he raises his little head and asks his dad if they will be leaving.

“We’ll have to,” he responds and Martin snuggles closer.

“You’re coming with me,” he decides then. “Back to Gotham,” he clarifies, and the expression on Martin’s face he earns himself in return is priceless. If this day taught him anything, it’s how the kid will never be safe anywhere - not with a father who’s a crime lord. There will always be someone trying to find out his weak spots and exploiting them. In Gotham, there’s at least an army of hired muscle at his disposal. Sure, they can go behind his back, too. But those people are loyal to the one who pays most and that would be the Penguin.

Scooting a hand through his hair, he messes up his meticulous style. He almost lost his sanity there. If not for Jim, he would have not been able to differ the present from the past. The situation had been much too reminiscent of the Galavan ordeal.

He feels the heat rising up in his cheeks. God, he’s embarrassed. He almost killed a man in front of a cop, in front of his child. It’s crazy. No, he is crazy. He’s not a tad bit better than all the other psychopaths populating Gotham.

They say if you killed enough people you turn mad. Before today, Oswald would have firmly disagreed. But his lifestyle is definitely taking its toll on him. He’ll have to apologize, he muses. And this time, he clearly owes Jim a favor, a big one.

Sighing, he untangles himself from his kid. He’s running on autopilot. First, he needs to deal with Martin’s nanny. She’s mostly unharmed and a generous amount of money makes sure she’ll never talk about this day to anyone. She’s alright with moving to Gotham and promises to show up at the Van Dahl Mansion on Monday. So that is settled.

Martin, the tough little fellow, is absolutely content once his father reassures him again they’ll go back home together. He turns on the TV and starts watching cartoons in the living room as if nothing ever happened. Oswald is glad about it. Maybe he should worry more how well the kid takes it all but beggars can’t be choosers.

The only remaining problem is Jim. The man comes back from a walk with his dog, looking more exhausted than ever. The bruises on his face are fading slowly but the hideous green-ish color only highlights the dark circles beneath his eyes.

“Why did you follow me?” the kingpin demands to know. After everything Jim did, he should probably sound less accusing but as always around Jim, he fails.

He merely rolls his eyes in response. “You were acting even more like an agitated, paranoid bitch than usual,” he answers irritatedly. Picking up Ed, he makes himself comfortable in the mobster’s study.

“So you what? Decided to look after me?” Oswald bristles. “I’ll have you know, I can perfectly handle myself.”

“I know you do,” the cop agrees. “But back in there, you could undoubtedly use a little help, right?”

The dog jumps down and Jim gives the mobster a hard stare. “The last time you were acting so strangely, your mother died - and both our lives went to hell. I really didn’t need a repetition,” he snorts. “So I looked up the GPS-data belonging to your car.” He shrugs and leans back in his chair.

“The GPS-data?” the mobster echoes, dumbfounded.

“Yeah,” the cop sighs. “It’s pretty easy to find out where one is going once you know what car they drive. Cop or not,” he adds with a smug smile. “Cheers to the modern times, right?”

The gangster only nods in return. He wonders if there might be more to the policeman’s decision to follow him and Martin but decides to let it slide. After all, you never look a gift horse in the mouth, right.

“Thank you,” Oswald stammers finally out. “That’s...Thank you.”

Ever a gentleman, Jim dismisses him. “Guess I should be going,” he suggests, slowly rising to his feet. “Ed’s stuff is in the bag by the door,” he adds.

Grimacing, he takes a deep breath and clutches his ribs.

“Everything alright?” Oswald asks, alarmed.

“Dandy,” he reassures him, suppressing a pained wince and the mobster makes a decision.

“I can’t let you drive like that,” he states. “Just think about all those poor New Heavenaties about to get wiped off the streets just because you are too proud to stay a couple more hours.”

He almost expects Jim to lash out but the other man just stifles a laugh.

“I’ll contact my pilot,” the criminal continues. “We’ll get picked up tomorrow. I’m done with driving. How about you?”

Shaking his head, the cop merely grins. “Why would you ever drive if you have a plane?”

“I thought it was more subtle to drive.”

This time, Jim bursts out laughing without restraint. “Oswald Cobblepot trying to be subtle. That’s a day to remember.” Wiping his eyes, he sits back down and waits for the mobster to fix them both a cup of tea.

Much later, when Martin is already sleeping his room, he finds Jim lying on the couch in his living room. Ed is snuggled up in his arms, with his head propped up on the man’s shoulder. He considers waking him up and telling him to retreat to one of his guest rooms.

It’s easier said than done though. For once, he’s completely relaxed, vulnerable, and so, so tired. Jim would need to sleep the entire week, the mobster muses. His job, his life is slowly killing him. But just like him, he chose this fate, right?

Oswald wonders if he truly only went after him for the reason he told him. It’s not like Martin’s demise would have had an effect on his life. Certainly not the way he presented it. The premises were similar, yet also different than on the day his mother died.

Quite the contrary, Martin’s death would have destroyed the Penguin and the criminal empire Jim tried smashing so often. Sitting down, he takes a moment to admire man sleeping in his home.

Today, Jim had been nothing but his friend. He had stopped him from going too far and helped him saving what counts most.

This is a dangerous development, Oswald knows. Everything he thought he knew about Jim has to be reconsidered. Of course, he can’t trust him - not the way he would want to. The cop isn’t going to become his partner in crime but maybe he can trust him with what truly counts  - to some extent at least.

Picking up a blanket, he covers his ally’s sleeping form. He doesn’t even stir when the fabric comes into contact with his body. Oswald hopes he’s comfortable enough and won’t suffer from an aching back the next morning. Turning off the lights, he goes to bed, too.

He feels lighter taking Martin back home now, knowing Jim will be guarding the streets of Gotham.


	10. Friends, At Last

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jim spends some time with Martin. He and Oz make decisions for their future.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know I probably sound like a broken record but I can't stress enough how grateful I am for all your comments! My weeks tend to get more and more stressful and your encouragement never fails to brighten my days :-)
> 
> I sincerely hope you'll enjoy this chapter. Thank you all for reading!

Oswald wakes later than usual. Yawning, he turns onto his left side and hugs his pillow close. He’s still so very tired and utterly exhausted.

“We’ll have cereals for breakfast,” he grumbles into his blanket, waiting for his son to protest, insisting on a sumptuous meal instead. 

The complaint never comes and despite better knowledge, he hopes his boy is still sound asleep beside him. After yesterday's events, Martin insisted on sleeping in his own room but crawled into his father’s bed sometime in the middle of the night. Oswald had been glad for it - he had slept better himself knowing his kid was safe and sound and breathing steadily only a few inches away from him. 

He yawns again and rolls around. His eyes protest vehemently when forcing them open against the bright light of another sunny day in New Heaven. He stares at the empty space beside him and swallows down a rush of anxiety.

Martin is still safe, he tells himself. He simply woke up and is probably sitting in the living room, watching his cartoons and pestering Jim.

Jim!

For a moment, he completely forgot about the GCPD’s Captain sleeping on his couch. Hissing in pain when dragging his aching limbs out of bed, he puts on a robe and starts hobbling downstairs. He should really consider installing an elevator he thinks when gripping the handrail tightly and jumping down the stairs on his one good leg.

When finally reaching the living room, the panic returns full force. There’s neither a trace of Martin nor Jim and even Ed is nowhere to be seen. Oswald already wants to scream his boy’s name on top of his lungs when hearing Jim’s voice drifting over from the kitchen.

Spinning on his heel, he limps closer as quickly as possible. 

“I swear it tastes good,” he hears the other man say then, sounding more than just slightly pleading.

Pricking up his ears, Oswald decides to hide beside the door instead of simply entering. After all, Cobblepot is known for his curiosity. Also, he’s dying to find out what his little one might have possibly done to make the great Jim Gordon sound so desperate that early in the morning. 

“My dad never puts maple-syrup on bacon,” Martin states in return and the black-haired man smiles, bemused. His little one is a picky eater. Good luck, Gordon, he thinks, baiting his kid into trying new food.

“I’m not putting it _on_ it,” Jim objects. “I’m caramelizing it,” he explains quietly. “It improves the taste.” Oswald gapes. He wouldn’t have thought it possible a man living on hot dogs and hamburgers even knows what that is.

There’s a short pause after that, probably because Martin is considering the cop’s words.

“That doesn’t sound right,” the little boy judges determinedly.

Suppressing a snicker, Oswald leans against the door in order to hear them better.

“Tell you what,” Jim replies with all the authority he’s is able to muster, “you’ll try a tiny piece of the bacon. If you like it, we’ll serve it that way. If not, I’ll start from scratch and even use a new pan.”

“If you are indeed using a fresh pawn, I’ll accept your offer,” Martin answers hesitantly and the mobster has never been prouder. This low, gruff voice is able to send shivers down the most hardboiled criminals’ spines while the little prince of Gotham isn’t even affected.

Oswald hears some shuffling afterward and what he assumes to be breathless tension on Jim’s part.

“It’s not bad,” the kid answers thoughtfully. “You think dad will like it?”

 Jim snorts. “Wouldn’t have suggested it otherwise,” he tells the child and then there’s the sizzling sound of more bacon being dropped into a pan followed by a smell that makes the slim man’s mouth water.

“So what’s next then? Scrambled eggs meet your approval?” the cop asks expectantly. 

Oswald assumes Martin must have nodded in response cause moments later he hears some more clattering. 

“I prefer to whisk the eggs in a bowl first. Makes them fluffier,” he explains. “Gimme some butter, young man.”

“Dad uses olive-oil,” the kid objects. 

“Yeah, but you wanted me to help you create your very own signature-breakfast for your dad. So we gotta do it a bit differently than him but still tasty, right?” Jim counters easily.

The little one makes a skeptical noise in response.

“Look, I learned how to make scrambled eggs in France and they are known for their excellent food.”

There’s silence after Jim’s last statement and Oswald wonders what might be going on behind the door. He imagines his kid and his cop being caught in a staring contest neither of them is willing to lose. Also, when would the cop have been to France? Jim Gordon anywhere else than in the United States? He has a hard time believing that statement. 

“Same procedure as with the bacon?” Jim proposes and then the clattering finally continues.

“It’s good,” Oswald hears Martin say after a while, sounding entirely flabbergasted. The gangster has to bite his fist else the pair would hear his chuckle. 

“Told you,” Jim sing-songs proudly. “Did anyone ever tell you, you’re even bossier than your old man?” he asks teasingly.

“Dad isn’t old,” Martin mumbles angrily.

“It’s just a saying,” the cop replies placatingly. “So, what else do you want me to do? Shall I dance for your father while you serve him breakfast?” Oswald almost chokes at the image.

“I can’t imagine you’re any good at dancing,” Martin answers thoughtfully. “You don’t have the build.”

Jim chortles. “That’s very rude, young man,” he tells him politely.

“I’m just being honest.”

“Well, that’s a good trait,” Jim ends their argument placably. “So, we gonna need some bread with that, too. Any suggestions?”

“We have dough in the fridge,” Martin answers. “I’ll start the oven,” he decides. 

“Ah, stop,” Jim interrupts. “You’re not coming near anything that’s hot, sharp, or in any matter fit to hurt you.”

“I can operate the oven. And dad taught me how to handle knives.” His son is clearly miffed with the cop.

“I’m sure about that,” Jim mutters. “But if you hurt yourself while I’m around, I’m pretty certain your dad’s gonna feed my bones to a lion.” 

“We don’t have a lion.”

Jim considers those words. “Still.”

“Fine,” the little one huffs at last. “You’re dad’s lackey after all.” 

The mobster behind the door cringes. A little chat about decent behavior seems in order. He already dreads Jim’s opinion on that last sentiment. On the other hand, he’s pretty satisfied with his boy. After all, Martin is dealing with Jim Gordon. Most people getting into an argument with the cop don’t even have a slight chance of winning that game. His little Martin is a true Cobblepot after all.

“I’m not your dad’s lackey,” Jim sputters in response.

“Sure you are,” the kid states matter of factly. “You’re a cop. And dad has all cops on his payroll.”

The mobster’s heart almost stops when hearing his kid’s words. That’s really not a topic he wants Martin to discuss with the unruly lawman. After everything that happened with Pyg, Jim firmly believes his colleagues returned to being incorruptible. Which, of course, is a huge lie. Jim’s still pretty much fighting his war alone, blind to the system and nature of their beloved city. On top, his good friend Harvey had been the first to take bribes from the Penguin again once things returned to normal - well, as normal as things can get in Gotham.

It takes a moment for the policeman to compose himself. “Well, I’m not getting paid by your father,” he replies at last. 

“But you take care of Ed. And you came to protect dad yesterday. So you have to be one of his lackeys. Why else would you do that?” the kid challenges and Oswald is torn between barging in on them and hearing Jim’s answer.

“I, I like dogs,” the man stammers lamely and the mobster wants to scoff. But he really needs to know how the rest of their conversation unfolds now.

“That’s all?” Martin sounds incredulous. “Dad would pay well, though” he adds smugly.

Oswald wonders if Jim is sweating profusely at this point. He is for sure. 

“I’m a cop, boy. I can’t take money from a man running…” At this point, the policeman is struggling for the right words. He’s clearly not quite certain how much Martin knows about Oswald’s less legal activities. 

To his credit, he doesn’t continue. Jim’s behavior gives him a little stab to the heart. He remembers when the cop met his mother. How he pleaded with him not to tell her about his career as a mobster. Jim indulged him back then. Now, he’s not giving him away either. For all the times Jim went behind his back he at least never sold him out to the people he truly cares about.

“You mean you can’t take money from a gangster?”. Martin interrupts the cop's musings. “Cause that’s what my dad is. The king of all gangsters,” he adds proudly and Oswald almost stumbles through the door. 

“That’s not what I wanted to say,” Jim replies, entirely lost now and the man behind the door pales.

“Dad told me about you,” Martin continues. “He says you think you are better than anyone else in Gotham. He told me you did bad things to him in order to do good and made everything worse.”

“Is that so?” he asks, taken aback.

“You locked up my dad,” he accuses and Jim doesn’t protest. 

“Why do you think my dad is a bad man?” the kid challenges, sounding every bit as infuriated as his father shortly before throwing a tantrum. 

“I, I don’t think your dad is bad man,” Jim replies, obviously confused. “I just think he occasionally does bad things. I’m sorry, though” he finishes barely audible and Oswald finally decides to save him from his misery.

Putting on his most cheerful smile, he opens the door and marches in. “There you are!” he announces with false enthusiasm when three pairs of eyes are being directed at him. 

Ed gets up and practically flees the kitchen while Jim sighs a breath of relief. He’s pretty sure the man has never been happier to see him.  

“What are you doing?” the gangster asks innocently. Bending down, he presses a soft kiss to his child’s forehead.

Jim merely rolls his eyes. “How long have you been standing behind that door?” he asks while turning off the oven and starting to serve their meal. “There,” he grumbles while pushing a plate into the pale man’s hands.

“I really don’t know what you’re talking about,” he retorts sweetly. “Thank you, that looks delicious,” he adds, a small grin tugging at the corner of his lips. 

“Thank your son,” he scoffs grimly. “He made breakfast.” Oswald doesn’t miss the wink Jim directs at his kid.

“That’s wonderful,” Oswald states cheerfully. “We’ll have to talk later,” he whispers then, for his son alone to hear.

Shaking his head, Jim sits down with them and starts chewing. Up close and in the harsh morning light, the cop appears to be more worn down than ever. He’s still wearing yesterday’s rumpled shirt, a short stubble started growing along his jaw, accentuating his bruises even more. The color beneath his eyes hasn’t improved either. Sometimes the crime-lord wonders if only his job is draining his sometimes foe, sometimes ally.

“You don’t happen to have a spare toothbrush?” the cop asks him between two sips of his coffee.

“Are you asking me for a favor?” the gangster suggests jokingly and Jim’s face darkens. Oswald could kick himself. Teasing the good Captain isn’t worth ruining their breakfast.

“There’s a guest-bathroom upstairs. Second door on the left. You’ll find everything you need.” 

“Thank you,” he answers quietly, leaving father and son alone. 

Uncomfortable silence spreads between the pair of them while Oswald is debating with himself how to tell his boy he should treat that special cop more delicately.

“I like him,” Martin passes his judgement once he has finished his orange-juice. 

Everything Oswald wanted to tell his kid suddenly leaves his mind. Despite his young age, he looks ridiculously earnest. He can’t help himself and starts laughing heartily. 

“And why’s that, my little prince?” he demands to know, wiping his eyes. 

Martin shrugs. “Most of your friends tried to kill you. I don’t think he’ll try to take you away forever.” 

At that statement, the gangster’s heart breaks a little. His son shouldn’t be constantly afraid for his father to die. And he shouldn’t like people simply for not trying to kill his dad. But it had been him to teach him never to trust anyone, so why is he surprised? For the thousandth time, he wonders if he did right when adopting his boy and bringing him into his crazy life. All he ever did was teaching his kid to fear the world and to make himself feared. There should be more, though. His son deserves stable relationships, not fear. Even if fear keeps him alive.

Heaving a sigh, he leans back against his chair. “I like him too,” he confesses quietly. “Now eat up. Butch is coming to pick us up soon.”

To Oswald’s utter amazement, their Sunday continues to be a quiet one. He would have expected Jim to start bickering with him the moment he wakes up. Instead, he takes Ed for a walk once he looks mostly human again. Afterward, he settles back down in the living room and watches cartoons with Martin while Ed is curled up in his lap.

It’s an unsettling feeling how well the cop fits into his little family - and how well it feels having him around. For all his mistakes, Oswald is pretty certain the cop would die trying to protect an innocent kid and his furry baby. He can finally calm down now with his silent guard occupying his living room. 

When Butch arrives to tell them the jet is ready Jim doesn’t object when Oswald offers him to take him aboard while the thug drives his car back to Gotham. For the second time today he wonders if there might be something seriously wrong with the cop. 

Even on the flight back he stays uncharacteristically quiet. They don’t talk much but now and then Jim glances fondly at the little boy sleeping beside the gangster. 

“What?” Oswald demands to know, slightly annoyed with the man’s stubborn silence. 

“Nothing,” Jim replies. “I just thought he’s your perfect image. If I wouldn’t know, I’d never guess he’s adopted.”

Thoughtfully, the criminal runs his fingers through his kid’s hair. “He’s much more,” he admits quietly. “And I very much hope the world will treat him better than me,” he adds, looking the cop sharply in the eye, meaning not the entire world at that moment but Jim alone. For he can only appeal to him right now.

He looks away, ashamed. “I’ll try,” he replies softly after a while. “I told you before, I don’t want him to become an orphan.”

Oswald considers the sincerity of those words but as ever, he can’t rely on words or promises alone. He needs commitment - something Jim had never been able to give.

“How can you promise that?” he asks. “You dedicated your life to chasing and hunting down criminals. So why should I believe that changes now?”

“It doesn’t,” Jim agrees. “But I learned my lesson with Sofia. I won’t try to bring you down again unless you leave me no other choice.” And it’s true. His efforts to bring him behind bars have lessened after that whole ordeal yet that doesn’t mean the man has come to his senses.

The mobster sneers as he shifts beneath his boy’s sleeping form. “You always had a choice, Jim,” he reminds him. “You just choose to make me your enemy number one.” 

Staring down at his hands, the cop doesn’t reply. “Just don’t make anything horrid enough for me not to look away,” he mutters, averting the criminal’s eye. 

If not for his son the Penguin would have probably exploded. What Jim is offering is the height of insolence - even if it’s more than he would have ever thought possible. 

“So you are saying,” he drawls, “you’d arrest me only if my actions violated _your_ sensitive set of morals. Congratulations, Jim. That would make you the most crooked and most hypocritical cop in the history of Gotham. Wouldn't it simply be easier to accept the generous offer I already made your colleagues and finally play by the rules?”

“No,” Jim protests firmly. Scooting his hand desperately through his hair Jim stares pleadingly at the mobster.

“And where would your limits be?” the Penguin urges. “How far would I be allowed to go before you come chasing after me again, hmm? Threatening to kill a man is obviously not far enough. What could I do before you hunt me down like an animal? Go on, tell me how your morally justifiable system of corruption would work. I am what I am. Nothing more, nothing less - and that won’t change.”

“I, I don’t know,” Jim utters softly. “The only thing I know is that I am continuously expanding those limits since I met you. I can’t kill you. I can’t get rid of you. I can’t take a child’s father. Not again,” he admits brokenly.

“Do you mean Mario Pepper?” the kingpins asks, half mockingly, half seriously.

Jim nods. “I can’t do right in Gotham. No matter how hard I try….” His voice trails off. “It seems every good deed is being paid with pain and suffering. I can’t stop doing what I’m doing or being who I am. But I can…” The cop is wringing his hands, unsure how to continue the sentence he started.

The kingpin knows Jim went as far as possible. He can’t promise any more, not without the man he is ceasing to exist.

His morality, his quest to fight all evil, his wish to build a better world, those are the things which had attracted the mobster in the first place. Ironically, he’s drawn to the man for all the reasons he should have stayed away from Jim. It seems he’s attracted to anything able to ruin him. But now he’s got more to live for than his own megalomania. He has a family to protect.

“It seems like we should come to an agreement,” Oswald decides at last.

Looking up sharply, he gestures for the gangster to continue.

“I think it would be best if we stayed as far away from each other as humanly possible. In order for you to be able to keep your promise.” The wolfish grin he directs at the cop is hardly able to hide his sadness  - yet what must be done, must be done.

“I can drink to that,” he retorts drily and the kingpin gestures for the steward to bring them a glass of champagne.

“I suppose that makes us friends, at last,” the mobster states and for once, Jim doesn’t protest.


	11. Time To Visit A Friend

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oswald and Jim manage to stay away from each other. But then the Penguin receives unexpected news.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All of your encouraging, lovely comments keep me going. I hope you'll enjoy the next chapter. Thank you all for reading!!!

Days pass, then weeks, and then even months. Oswald has everything he could have ever hoped for: a family, wealth, power. He should have been happy. And he is. For the first time in his life, he has achieved some sense of stability. Everything is going so well it should have been boring. It is. 

Jim has stayed true to his word, keeps as far away from the mobster as possible. He resists waltzing into the Iceberg Lounge at any given moment as if he owned the place and refrains from calling the criminal at ungodly hours to obtain some intel on the workings of the inner mind of some lowlife Oswald might or might not be acquainted with.

Instead, when the situation calls for it, cops show up at his doormat who know how to keep their heads low and their manners in place. Oswald isn’t forced to keep his wits about him whenever the police arrive. Not when he only has to deal with quivering fools nowadays who are too afraid to ask the right questions, intimidated solely by his reputation. There’s no challenge in his interactions with the GCPD any longer, no game of push and pull.

Even Zsasz’s mouth escapes a mournful sigh the next time Jim doesn’t show up for interrogation but one of their most loyal associates at the GCPD. 

One could think the Penguin misses the old days. He doesn’t, he tells himself firmly. Now, that he finally realizes how toxic his fascination with the cop always had been, he’s able to focus on what’s truly important: the family he had been given. 

As more and more time goes by, Cobblepot’s interests begin to shift towards his more legal businesses. He starts a restaurant chain, and a perfectly legal casino, both turning out to be a steady influx of gorgeous dollar notes and makes plans for another lucrative arms trade with the state of New York.

And yes, it is true. There had been a time when the Penguin had envisioned his son following him on the throne. But now, with his kid being close all the time, he isn’t quite sure about that anymore. 

His love for Martin keeps growing steadily, increasing day by day until he can’t remember what had possessed him in the first place to wish for his child to become a criminal. The thought alone of his kid being hunted down by other mobsters or being chased by the police is enough to make his stomach churn. Now, he has more to live for than an empire. He has a legacy. A legacy he keeps building steadily for Martin and Martin alone.

One day, his son will be a powerful and respected man, he vows. There won’t be any hideous rumors, exchanged only in the dark, about his alleged criminal connections. He’ll be as much loved as Bruce Wayne - Oswald will make sure of that.

That doesn’t mean the Penguin has entirely given up on crime. Gotham is still his city, his kingdom. And despite the crime-licenses being history, nobody in their right mind would dare to make their businesses without the monarch’s blessing. He doesn’t control petty crime any longer, but who cares anyway? The GCPD listens to his command, the other Dons too, and the Penguin still makes his cut in exchange for protection under his notorious umbrella. He just isn’t personally involved anymore. He lays low for the sake of his boy.

And maybe for Jim’s sake, a traitorous voice in the back of his mind keeps whispering. He shushes the voice whenever it speaks up. Claims not provoking the last honest man at the GCPD is just another measure to keep his boy from having to visit him in prison.

Oswald Cobblepot has turned into a criminal who doesn’t make his hands dirty. Just like Falcone before him, he pulls the strings in the background while in public maintaining the facade of a proper businessman. 

On some days, he’s sure Jim sees right through the charade. Or would, if he could be bothered to care. Or maybe he does care but decides not to act on his instincts. His promise not to turn Martin into an orphan seemed to be a genuine one. And with Oswald residing in Arkham or Blackgate, Martin would be just that.

With Jim being gone from his life for good, the Penguin starts to wonder. He reminisces their conversations during dull meetings, tries seeing his actions through the eyes of the cop who came here so many years ago to rid the city of the corruption that is the very blood and soul of Gotham. If he understands at last?

It doesn’t seem like it. Not if the Gotham Gazette and the City Herald are anything to go by. Almost on a daily basis, the man’s face stares accusingly at him from the covers. Jim is judging him, scowling at him. That surely wasn’t what he had envisioned when he let him off the hook.

But what was he expecting anyway? He remembers their first conversation in Jim’s flat. When the man stunned him into silence, admitting he had indeed let the mobster walk away freely despite being able to arrest him. Back then, he didn’t believe him. But now, he starts to reconsider.

In Jim’s eyes, he had been too powerful before his third fall from grace. He had controlled the city like no other man before him and he had tried putting an end to it by bringing Sofia to Gotham. But maybe that had been Jim’s kind of mercy. The cop had always been smart, clever. Yet, instead of arresting him, he brought home another criminal to take the throne from him, or at least someone he would have had to share his power with.

His actions had almost torn Gotham apart. And now, despite him meddling and expanding his control again, Jim stays true to his word. He must know about Oswald’s actions, though. He’s still Jim Gordon, isn’t he? 

And while the weeks pass, Oswald reads the newspapers. Learns about the hero-cop who’s never afraid be the first in the line of fire whenever someone robs a bank or takes another hostage. 

Ed is wreaking havoc again when Lee finally leaves him. He blows anyone up too stupid to solve his ridiculous riddles, desperately trying to strike fear in anyone’s hearts and to make himself known. It’s laughable, really. He’s putting so much effort into his games and still achieving nothing: no wealth, no power. Fear without reputation has never been to Oswald’s liking. Sometimes he wonders how he fell for Ed in the first place. The man has become a mess, a loose cannon ready to go off at any given moment. They had been a good team though, he muses. Before everything went to hell.

Jim is chasing Ed desperately, almost getting himself killed before finally catching him and hauling his sorry ass to Arkham. Oswald wonders if Jim survived thanks to his wits or because Ed couldn’t bring himself to murder him. After all, there had been a time when the two men had been friends. 

How deep is he under Ed’s skin, too? Is he? And no, he isn’t jealous. Not of that friendship. Not of Lee, who is now free to return to Jim. He isn’t. For he can’t be friends with Jim. Not when his proximity alone is a danger to his child and everything he built.

His heart isn’t filled with dread either when Jeremiah Valeska hatches a plan to cut off Gotham from the mainland. He definitely isn’t worried half out of his mind when Jim does what he does best and marches right into the heart of darkness. Isn’t staring into the flames of his fireplace when the news declare Jeremiah dead and the Captain missing, buried beneath the ruins of the single bridge the redhead managed to destroy. He doesn’t drink too much or bites his nails frantically until drawing blood when ordering his men to team-up with the Wayne boy to get the appropriate machinery over to dig up the cop as soon as possible. 

He simply does what any decent, wealthy citizen would do. And he definitely doesn’t sob hot, relieved tears in the privacy of his own bedroom when Jim survives yet again. He should have prayed for his death instead, he chastises himself. With the cop gone, his life would be easier.

Oswald never took the easy way. But he stays strong even afterward. Doesn’t consider catching a glimpse of the Detective lying in his hospital bed despite wishing so much for visible, tangible proof he’s still breathing. 

Instead, he stares at yet another photograph of the good Captain gracing the cover of the Gazette. His frown has deepened and the circles beneath his eyes seem darker than ever. Else, he seems fine. Not even three days after the incident he’s back at the precinct, ordering his men around. Oswald is relieved - and a tad bit worried. It’s awfully soon, isn’t it? 

It’s no use denying: he misses Jim Gordon. Yet Oswald isn’t going to waste his chance for his personal happy ending. That is until Harvey Bullock pays him a visit.

The Penguin frowns. None of his machinations should have provoked the GCPD’s interest lately.

The Detective is still a stranger to decent haircuts or flatirons, the mobster notes, slightly displeased. Bullock is unusually subdued today, but then he’s mostly rather civil when not tagging along with Gordon. Must have something to do with him regularly paying the cop’s gambling debts, Oswald ponders. Only last week Bullock brought himself into rather serious trouble once more. 

If Jim knows Harvey can’t quit visiting illegal gambling dens? Probably not. Why the Detective doesn’t visit his own clubs is anyway beyond him. He wouldn’t have to fear for the safety of his kneecaps in the Penguin’s establishments, that’s for certain. And no, that’s because the man is useful, not another favor for Gordon. Well, maybe a small one. 

Heaving a sigh, he gestures for Bullock to sit down and waits patiently while he crams himself into the deliberately too narrow chair before him. A polite smile firmly in place, he orders Gabe to bring them some refreshments. After all, he still has manners.

Folding his long, elegant fingers beneath his chin he asks, “what can I do for you, Detective?”

For a second, Bullock squirms under his gaze before ceremoniously dropping a folder unto the table. Cobblepot’s mouth twitches. He never liked rude gestures.

Slowly, he picks it up and opens it. The first page isn’t spectacular at all. A simple police-report he can’t be bothered to read. Yet when turning to the second page he has a hard time concealing the surprised gasp about to escape his throat.

He has seen pictures of corpses before, has seen dead bodies with his own eyes and even been the cause of death but this, this is different.

Thankfully, this is also the exact moment Martin decides to barge in. Scowling venomously at the Detective, Oswald quickly snaps the folder shut.

Bullock’s eyes grow wide like saucers when taking in the little Penguin, but Oswald pays him no mind. He’s too grateful for the distraction allowing him to collect his jumbled thoughts. That man on the cop’s photograph, he knows him. Knew him, if only briefly. And now he’s dead. It can’t be, mustn’t be. Not now, not when everything is going so well.

Pushing his inner turmoil aside, he focuses on Martin instead. His little one looks so much like him, dressed in his gray dress pants, even if currently decorated with grass-stains, and sporting a white shirt. Except one item is missing to complete the picture.He’s holding a small, rumpled frock in his hands and looking entirely crestfallen at his father. 

“I’d rather you wouldn’t bring such horrifying pictures to my home where my child could be exposed to them,” he chastises Bullock haughtily.

“And Martin, what did I teach you about knocking?” Oswald inquires sternly. 

“That I should do it?” the kid asks back.

The mobster rolls his eyes. “Just tell me what happened,” he urges, tapping his fingers impatiently on the shiny surface of his desk.

“See, Ed…” he starts, cheeks already heating up. 

“No,” Oswald interrupts his kid. “What did I teach you about lying?” He doesn’t miss the snort that escapes Bullock at the question. 

“Only ever lie to the police, the judge, business partners, and…” Martin starts to list by using his tiny fingers. This time, the cop outright chokes. 

“And never to your dad,” Oswald cuts him off determinedly. “So try again.”

“I was playing in the garden with Ed,” the kid finally admits. “I slipped and tore the lining,” he elaborates, holding up the piece of garment for his dad to see. 

Oswald bristles. “This kind of attire isn’t really suited for playing in the garden, Martin.”

“I know, dad,” the kid whines and his father has to hide a smirk behind his hand. “But can you fix it?” he asks, already stepping closer to the desk.

He’s staring at Bullock with unhidden curiosity when approaching. “I know you,” he states. “You’re the cop who accompanied the one who watched over Ed. The one who…”

Before Martin can finish his sentence, Oswald takes the frock from him and makes a show of inspecting the garment. “Just take it to Olga,” he judges, giving his son a pointed look. “Ask her nicely to take it to the tailor. And while you’re at it, see what she can do about the grass-stains. I’d be more worried about those,” he finishes.

“But Olga is terrifying,” the little one protests. 

“Maybe she’d be less terrifying if you’d be nicer to her?” he suggests.

“I am nice,” he objects. 

“Good then, at least someone in this house can be severe,” Oswald mutters more to himself than to his child. “Martin, darling, please let dad have a chat with this man here. We can discuss this later, alright?”

Nodding, the kid finally makes to leave the room, still openly staring at the Detective. “You aren’t in danger, right?” he can’t help asking, glancing warily at the elderly man. Bullock is still too flabbergasted to respond. 

“No,” Oswald soothes him. “I’m just having a chat with an old friend.”

Once the door closes behind Martin, the mobster turns his attention back to the task at hand. His initial shock at seeing a photograph of the recently deceased Brian Gold has thankfully worn off enough for him to think properly again. 

“Cat caught your tongue?” he smirks when Bullock still stares at the door. 

Turning in his narrow seat, he stammers out, “no, I just thought…”

“What?” Oswald snaps more for dramatic reasons than out of real anger. “That I killed my own son? Or sent him away for good?”

“Son?” he echoes incredulously.

“Son,” the Penguin confirms proudly.

Collecting himself slowly, Bullock taps the folder. “The reason for my visit,” he clears his throat awkwardly. 

“And I already thought you’d be here to show your gratitude,” he interrupts him, directing a sweet, innocent smile at the cop. Thanks to Martin, it’s almost ridiculously easy to throw the Detective off guard.

“Yeah,” he brushes off the last statement seemingly unheard but the folder suddenly vanishes from his table. Silence stretches between the two men while Oswald waits for Bullock to speak up again. The cop is meanwhile looking at anything but at him. He twirls the hat in his hands, studies his dirty fingernails before sucking in a deep breath.

“Penguin,” he starts. “I need to talk openly with you.”

“Please, we are old friends after all,” he encourages, his smile growing wider. 

Leaning back, the Detective studies him thoroughly. “I never liked you,” Bullock admits. “Thought you’d wind up dead sooner than later. Instead, you’re on top of the food chain again.”

The Penguin dismisses this rather rude statement. The man is obviously trying to manipulate him into losing his temper. Oswald isn’t going to rise to the bait. Not when the stakes are so high. Not when there’s still hope. 

It’s only Bullock he’s dealing with. Jim Gordon still respects their agreement, and while he must be absolutely certain Cobblepot had Brian Gold killed, he still didn’t come. He sent his partner instead. It seems like Jim is truly sticking to his word, going even against his moral code in order to keep Martin from becoming an orphan.

It only hits him now, that he clearly didn’t tell his partner about the return of his son. While he isn’t keeping Martin a secret per se, he didn’t shout it from the rooftops either. The less know, the safer his kid is.

Oddly enough, the mobster wishes Jim had come himself. Oswald had had nothing to do with the man’s untimely decease and he yearns for the Captain to believe him. Hopes to look into his eyes and be given the chance of convincing him he isn’t the monster he clearly thinks him to be. He values agreements too. He had always been honest with Jim. Can’t he see that? Not even once? Must he send his partner?

And Bullock, really? Oswald wants to scoff. He trusts his partner so much while the man is still another crooked cop, ready to sacrifice the oh so precious law for his own interests. 

“Jim sent me personally,” Bullock carries on. “Which is odd in itself,” he states with what passes as his most intimidating stare. It does nothing for Cobblepot though. “Said you might know something about the man we found with a bullet in his head this morning. Gently placed for his final rest on a trash dump.”

“And your point is?” the Penguin inquires politely.

“I could ask you if you knew him and listen to your lies,” the cop growls lowly.

Leaning over the table, he brings his face uncomfortably close to Oswald’s. He can smell the cheap burgers he consumed, the onions and the garlic in his breath. He wants to lean back, evade this gross, stomach-turning scent but dutifully stays in place. Bullock needs to see his expressions, has to be certain he isn’t lying to him.

“But I did know him,” he concedes, surprising the cop entirely. “If only briefly,” he continues. “But this,” he gestures at the folder. “I’m not responsible for this.”

Leaning back against his throne, Oswald studies the cop intently. He isn’t sure he believes him. It isn’t Bullock’s validation he seeks anyway but Gordon’s. But he’s the next best thing, a step to take in order to get into the Captain’s good graces. 

To his utter surprise, Bullock nearly explodes out of his chair. “I couldn’t care less who’s responsible for some minor drug dealers death!” he shouts. “Maybe it was you, maybe it wasn’t. What I really want to know is what have you done to Jim Gordon?”

“Pardon?” the Penguin blinks.

“What,” Bullock commences. Slowly leaning over the table he grabs his lapels again. “What have you done to Jim?” he asks again, lowly, threateningly. “Before the whole dog incident, he would have never shied away from going to you himself if he thought you were up to no good. So, what is it you are threatening him with?”

Releasing him, Bullock pushes the Penguin deeper into his chair. Oswald gapes, too stunned to reply. He should have assumed their agreement would raise some suspicions.

“I, I, I did no such thing,” he stammers, intimidated, as shy as the umbrella-boy he used to be so many years ago.

Bullock merely scoffs in response. “Whatever you’re doing, it’s working incredibly well.”

“What do you mean?” Oswald asks back, having a hard time following the cop’s train of thought.

“What I mean, is that I don’t care who and what you are,” he declares dramatically. “I’ll be coming after you if Jim should get killed or kill himself.”

At the notion, Oswald feels as if someone had pulled the rug right underneath his feet. He has to draw his breath before being able to speak again.

“Whyever would he do that?” he sputters. It’s not his most eloquent moment but he must have done something right for Bullock’s expression turns less thunderous.

“Have you been reading the news lately?” he demands to know. Too anxious to answer Oswald just tilts his head.

“Our good Captain of the GCPD is on a suicide mission ever since he stopped caring for your pet. You don’t want me to think that’s merely a coincidence?”

Surging forward, Bullock reaches again for the Penguin. Yet the mobster stops him.

“As opposed to you, I truly considered Jim Gordon a friend. Always. I’d never…” He’s struggling for words, unsure how to continue. It’s unlike the King of Gotham to beg for something. But right now, he needs Harvey to trust him. “What you are implying… I could never do that. Not when it comes to Jim. So tell me, what’s wrong with him?”

Laughing humourlessly, Harvey considers his words. “I never know with you if you’re lying or being sincere. Jim lost his will to live. That’s what happened. And should I ever find out it’s something you’re threatening him with, I’ll personally come after you.”

“Sounds fair,” the kingpin mutters. Collecting himself, he indicates for Bullock to leave. Being clearly outnumbered should the kingpin choose to call for his employees, he turns on his heel but not without shooting the Penguin a last, nasty glance.

Once the cop is gone, Oswald collapses back in his seat. Rubbing his temples wearily he picks up the latest edition of the Gotham Gazette. He browses through the newspaper until he finds the picture he had been looking for.

Jim Gordon is frowning at him from the paper, appearance haggard. The Captain has clearly lost some weight since they last saw each other. The worn down suit he’s sporting seems to be the only thing gluing him together. Oswald doesn’t know if he’s imagining things but Gordon seems to look, for the lack of a better word, sad.

He wonders how he didn’t notice that before. Could Harvey be right? Jim had only been doing what he had always been doing: trying to save this wicked city from itself. True, he had been reckless, careless for his own safety but that is just ultimately Jim, right?

And Jim Gordon committing suicide? The thought alone is laughable. The man is a soldier, a hero, the last honest cop in the entire city. Whyever would he even think about ending his life?

He doesn’t dare thinking the man’s losses might have finally caught up with him. After all, what does he have? Two failed relationships and his job. He remembers the state of his flat shortly after giving Ed into his care. How shabby and messy the place had been. The dog had been an anchor back then, a reason for him to tidy up the apartment and to reconsider his life.

Could it be that with the dog gone he had gone back to his old ways?

Once he has made up his mind, he orders Gabe to come over. The bulky man stumbles through the door and Oswald sighs. There are not many jobs the slow-witted hulk can be trusted with. But this one should be easy enough.

“I need you to get me a dog from the animal shelter,” the kingpin commands, tone decisive. “A Pomeranian. The one in 34th street has one. Fetch it and take it to me. I already informed them about your arrival.”

To his utter surprise, the whole man lights up at him mentioning the Pomeranian. “You mean that kind of dog they had on this sitcom called “The Nanny”?” he inquires.

Oswald stares at him, entirely lost. “I suppose,” he offers.

“Oh, it was a lovely show,” Gabe continues. “See, boss, there was this couple. She was a nanny and he was some rich dude. They were pining for each other for years and never got properly together. They had love interests but always broke off with them cause they knew they were meant for each other but in the end…”

The Penguin cuts him off. “The dog, please,” he presses out through gritted. “And once you have it, get my car ready. I have to visit an old friend.”


	12. A Simple Truth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jim receives a gift and an offer from the King of Gotham.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter...God, it was a battle from start to finish. I have to thank thekeyholder so much for cheering me on. I'm so grateful for your input, really. 
> 
> Thank you for reading this story and all your gorgeous comments!!!!

Oswald stares at the little creature sitting in his lap. It would be a stretch to say this white, fluffy thing is a dog. The tiny, furry ball rather reminds the mobster of a marshmallow exploded in a microwave - sprinkled with three black dots for its eyes and nose.

Curiously, the little Pomeranian darts out its tongue and licks the kingpin’s hand. Oswald flinches.

“That tickles,” he chuckles.  

The dog ignores him. Yawning wholeheartedly, it makes itself comfortable on the Penguin’s thigh.

Oswald pets the small creature absentmindedly. Now that he’s in the back of his limo, on the way to Jim Gordon, he starts to doubt his actions.

His mother would definitely not be pleased with him. A living, breathing thing is certainly not suited as a gift, she would say. It’s irresponsible, she would say. Ironically, an adjective Oswald often used to describe the man he intends to give the dog to. Yet according to Bullock, the adjective should be replaced by suicidal.

But what if the Detective got it wrong? Could this endeavor end the fragile truce he managed to establish with the Captain? In the past, Jim never reacted kindly when Oswald tried to form a friendship with him. His efforts always ever earned him insults and rejection.

The definition of madness is doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results. So why should Jim accept a tiny dog from him?

But then this is not only about Oswald’s vain desire to keep Jim Gordon - poisonous, toxic, dangerous Jim Gordon - in his life. This is primarily about the man himself. Oswald would never be able to forgive himself if he knew Jim was walking into his fate without trying to rescue him.

He saved his life already too often. In his eyes, Jim is his responsibility. He owes Jim. And Jim owes him in return. He would always owe him for all the times he wronged Oswald and Oswald would always owe him for that damned day on the pier. The Penguin’s fate is inseparably intertwined with the Captain’s. For better or worse.

The Penguin won’t allow the Captain to die at his own hands. If anyone had ever earned their right to kill Jim Gordon, it’s him and only him. In his eyes, he not only owes him. He owns him.

He is his cop. Just as he is his gangster. For whatever reason, they can’t stop chasing each other. Maybe Jim Gordon is his own personal hell. Maybe they have both died a long time ago and now they are doomed to chase one another, and whenever one catches the other, their game begins anew for all eternity.

Together, they had turned Gotham into what it is today. They had both left their marks and made their impact. Yet, while the Penguin strives for money, power, and order, Jim strives for justice, safety, and order. Their constant game of push and pull brought the city to the brink of destruction and keeps it in balance.

Jim Gordon is keeping Gotham from being taken over by gangsters and corruption. The Penguin keeps it from plunging into chaos.

Gotham is a city like no other. She is not just an accumulation of streets, cars, and buildings. She is a living, breathing being. A monster drawn to the darkness. Gotham needs her gangsters, she needs the order only established by fear and violence. But she also needs men who keep her from falling into the abyss. Men who keep the peace, who hold her back from going too far, and destroying herself. Men like Jim Gordon.

Exhaling wearily through his nose, Oswald disturbs the dog sleeping in his lap. The Pomeranian stares reproachfully at him while chewing the hem of his suit jacket.

“Oh, no,” the mobster scolds while detaching the creature from the garment. Unimpressed, the dog starts chewing on his finger.

“Ouch!” he yelps. Staring angrily at the fluffy thing, he places it back in its bag. “I’m not an oversized rubber toy,” he chides, earning himself a heartwrenching whine from the Pomeranian.

“Oh, don’t do that to me,” he grumbles. “You’re not supposed to get attached to me anyway. You’re supposed to cheer up an old friend of mine. Don’t worry,” he carries on. “He’ll take good care of you in return. I hope, at least,” he whispers.

When the car stops, Oswald has almost lost his courage. Jim is probably absolutely fine and Bullock was just overreacting. This whole visit is only going to end in an argument and if he’s really unlucky, with Jim starting new investigations against him.

Picking up the dog carrier, he exits the limousine. It’s not too late to turn back, he muses, while his feet already carry him down the slippery stairs. Once again, it’s raining in Gotham. This entire city is always enshrouded by a thick blanket of darkness as if an eternal winter had settled over all of them.

Oswald knocks once and almost turns on his heel when the door doesn’t open instantly. He’s too slow though with his bad leg. He would have been too slow with a healthy leg, too.

“Cobblepot,” Jim growls angrily and the mobster cringes. They’re obviously back on a second name basis and judged by the look the Captain shoots him, he’s anything but happy to see him.

“Did you lose your dog again?” he growls unkindly, while at the same time opening the door further, allowing the Penguin to come in.  

Swallowing hard, the kingpin shakes his head. Jim’s eyes snap up. “Your kid then?”

Oswald wonders how the cop’s voice can sound anymore deeper than usual. It’s not even a human voice anymore but the low rumble of a beast ready to attack. The thought alone of an innocent being in danger, even if it is a murderer’s child, sets the Captain’s teeth on edge. He stares into Jim’s stormy eyes, sees the rage lurking deep in those blue orbits, and hopes he’ll never have to learn the full force of his wrath.

“Nothing as abysmal,” he responds lightly. Oswald smiles then because he always smiles when being uncertain.

Jim studies him for a long moment before he nods. He’s probably making sure the Penguin isn't lying. “Why are you here then?” he demands to know.

The cop walks into his kitchen, sure the kingpin will follow. And it’s exactly what Oswald does. He would follow Jim anywhere after all, wouldn’t he?

Subtly scanning the room, Oswald assesses the state of the flat and his doubts tenfold. This is not the apartment of a man who lost his will to live - quite the contrary. The place is still tidy, still nicely furnished. There’s nothing lying around apart from a white shirt dropped carelessly beside a door Oswald assumes to be leading to the bathroom.  

Leaning over the counter, Jim hands him his usual cup of tea. It’s still the weirdly oversized mug the cop always uses when he visits. He wonders if he gets it because Jim wouldn’t even drink accidentally from it.

“So?” the Detective asks, arching a suspicious eyebrow at him.

“I like how you redecorated your home,” Oswald answers. Before he can stop himself he blurts out, “And still so clean.”

Jim snorts. “You mean a clean place is very much unlike me? Or any cop for the matter?”

Opening and closing his mouth, Oswald tries thinking of a reply.

“Well, you might be right. The maid has only been yesterday.” The bastard has the audacity to laugh at the Penguin.

Filling his own cup with coffee, Jim gestures toward the living room.

“Maid?” Oswald echoes incredulously while taking a seat on the man’s new sofa. Well, not that new anymore. He places the bag containing the small Pomeranian beside him and waits for Jim to follow.

“Yes, maid,” he confirms while making himself comfortable in a chair opposite the mobster. “In the long run, I’m indeed useless at keeping this place tidy.”

“How can you afford a maid?” Oswald blurts out unthinkingly.

To his credit, Jim merely looks bemused. “I’m the Captain of the GCPD. Not a welfare-case,” he replies.

Considering the number of bribes he regularly pays the other cops, Oswald highly doubts that statement. He wisely keeps that thought to himself.

“But I hardly think you came here for my impeccable taste regarding interior design or to recruit my maid,” Jim spits sarcastically.

Taking a sip from his tea, the kingpin glares at the cop. The man is as unmanageable as always, rude even. On top, his worries seem to have been entirely uncalled for. No way in hell this stubborn bastard would ever entertain the thought of killing himself!

No, Oswald coming here is only going to end their truce and Jim would start chasing him for the murder of Brian Gold. The Penguin would end up in prison again and his Martin would become an orphan.

How could he have been so stupid? Had all of this just been a trap set up by Bullock and Gordon to lure him out here? To break their arrangement without Jim being the culprit? It wouldn’t be the first time the Captain had played him in such a despicable way. But then, if Jim wanted to go after him, he simply would, all promises aside.

“You sent Harvey Bullock,” the kingpin starts thoughtfully. This had been a bad idea. He should leave instantly, he thinks. Taking in Jim’s calm expression, he starts getting certain this had indeed been a trap. Rage starts slowly cursing through his veins, blocking out each and every rational thought. He has been betrayed again and Martin would pay the price.

“I still honor our arrangement,” Jim responds angrily.

“You obviously don’t!” he spits back, involuntarily already reaching for his cane. “We both know Bullock turning up at my place is as good as you coming.”

“And we both know that is not quite true,” the cop growls, slowly rising to his feet.

“Not true?!” the Penguin exclaims. “He’s practically your right hand.”

“And your left,” Jim replies, catching the mobster off guard.

Tilting his chin petulantly, Oswald explodes into a rant. “His loyalties have always been with you. And now you’re sending him to take me down again, to drag me to the ground, to turn my child into an orphan…”

Placing a firm hand against his chest, the cop interrupts his tirade. “I sent Harvey because I had to be certain Brian Gold’s death would not be the beginning of another turf war,” he tells him earnestly.

The cop’s gaze is soft, remorseful even when removing his hand and dropping it to his side. “I’m almost positive you had nothing to do with his death,” he admits softly.

Oswald’s eyes widen in surprise. “Then why?” he stutters, unable to process how Jim, for once, doesn’t believe him to be guilty. The rage slowly abates, allowing his brain functions to come back online.

Jim shrugs. “Could have been someone who wants to impress you. Someone who heard Martin talking about what happened. If that’s the case, Gold’s side would retaliate. And you’d have to defend whoever was responsible.”

Sitting back down, Jim rubs his temples. “I’m so done with turf wars,” he mumbles wearily. “Nothing but revenge and blood.”

“Eye for an eye and the world goes blind,” Oswald quotes.

Looking up sharply, the cop nods.

“How can you know I had nothing to do with Gold’s death?” he can’t help asking suspiciously.

“I would have never found him,” Jim merely replies. Leaning back in his chair, the cop heaves a long, heavy sigh.

For a moment, Oswald only weighs the cane in his hand, the little dog beside him in the bag long forgotten. “I can promise there’s no turf war coming,” he finally admits.

“Then I really don’t know why we’re still having a conversation.” Leaning forward the Captain places his cup on the table and readies himself to throw his unwanted guest out.

A ray of Gotham’s rare sunlight filters through the window, highlighting the man’s ashen face. It must have stopped raining at some point, Oswald muses while studying Jim’s features. His cheekbones are for once clearly visible, standing out so prominently he could cut himself on them. His eyes are bloodshot and his lips dried out, almost gray from constantly chewing on them, and pressed into a tight line.

The way Jim moves is jerky, erratic almost. He’s constantly on the edge, ready to jump up at any given moment, but once seated, he looks like a puppet with their strings cut.

Oswald could leave right now. And maybe he should just take this gift Jim had given him, an honest ceasefire, and return back home. The man never claimed to be his friend, made it clear time and time again he doesn’t want him in his life, so why pressure him?

“Bullock believes I’m threatening you,” Oswald informs him, his hand already on the doorknob.

The cop doesn’t even flinch. At first, the gangster believes Jim hasn’t heard him. Turning around, he looks back. Gordon is standing behind him, eyes trained intently on his face.

“I already told him that’s not the case,” he tells him quietly.

“He doesn’t seem to believe you,” the gangster quips.

Jim frowns. “He will,” he states determinedly.

“He also believes you want to kill yourself because of my alleged, evil machinations.”

If possible, Jim looks even more displeased. “I already told you he won’t believe that anymore once everything is said and done.”

“So it’s true then?”

Gordon shrugs. “I’ll be keeping my promise. I’ll stay away from you and your kid.” His voice is harsh. He pauses for a moment. “How’s the dog?” he demands to know. The question comes out like an order.

“Ed is fine,” the mobster replies gently. He feels movement in the bag he’s holding and when looking at Jim, Oswald makes up his mind.

“Speaking of Ed. I wanted to thank you for taking such good care of him.”

“That’s really not necessary,” Jim interrupts him.

“I feel like it is.” He chuckles nervously and wonders what he must look like to Jim. A small, seemingly insecure man, with greasy hair who always laughs too often, too obnoxiously. “I have a little gift for you.”

“You know I can’t accept presents from you.” The other man is clearly annoyed. Pushing past Oswald, he opens the door.

“It’s nothing I paid money for,” the Penguin consoles him with a devilish smirk. Holding up the bag, he offers it to Jim. “Careful!” he warns.

Jim stares at the bag as if it was a bomb he asked him to dismantle.

“What is this?” he inquires suspiciously, but dutifully opening the zipper, he reaches inside.

When Jim Gordon picks up the tiny dog, he’s speechless. Oswald had been certain he would have to fend off a flood of words once he sees the little creature but Jim stays silent. Cradling the fluffy ball carefully in his hands, he exhales a shuddering breath.

The small dog takes a curious sniff and promptly sneezes. The Captain laughs. And for once, he sounds carefree, relieved.

“Oh, I’ll have to get another cologne, won’t I?” he chuckles while pressing a little kiss to the top of the dog’s head.

Gently putting the dog on the ground, Jim observes how it starts fearlessly exploring his apartment. Already completely enamored, the cop runs after the dog. “I guess he needs water,” he coos excitedly and promptly fills a bowl.

Smiling fondly, Oswald follows him back to the kitchen where Jim is already busy fussing over the dog.

“I got it from an animal shelter,” he explains. “That way, you won’t have to worry I gave you something pricey.”

The cop hardly acknowledges him. “You can call this one Chester,” the mobster suggests with a mischievous smile.

“Chester,” Jim replies thoughtfully. “Yeah, I should probably do that,” he adds, his smile growing wider.

Yet all of a sudden, the man’s face falls. “I can’t keep him,” he whispers, looking longingly at the little one.

Oswald frowns. “I thought you liked him?” he asks, a tad bit angry. “If that is about me being…”

Jim stops him. The expression on his face is raw, honest - and entirely broken. “That’s the most beautiful, thoughtful gift I ever received in my entire life.”

Oswald’s breath hitches in his throat. He would have expected any answer but this. It’s not like Jim’s response makes sense, yet the sheer amount of passion in his voice makes his knees go weak.

“Thank you,” Jim whispers. “He’s perfect.”

“Why don’t you want him though?” Oswald needs to know, entirely at a loss.

“I want him,” Gordon reassures him. “I just can’t keep him.” A wistful expression crosses his face when gently picking up the dog and handing it back to Oswald. “It would be irresponsible,” he elaborates with a lopsided grin.

Despite Jim’s nonchalant demeanor, hearing Jim describing himself as irresponsible feels like a stab to Oswald’s heart. Especially, with the other man being so serious about it. He wants to contradict, opens his mouth even, but Jim merely smiles sadly at him and shakes his head.

“There’s no need to be polite about it, Oswald,” he tells him firmly. “I lost control a long time ago. I won't drag an innocent being down with me. You already said it yourself, didn’t you?” Jim’s mouth twitches, he almost looks victorious.

“I didn’t mean that,” the former umbrella-boy protests unconvincingly, insecurely, and Jim grunts. Oswald wonders why he’s never steadfast when it comes to what is most important to him. He’s cunning and suave in each and every negotiation but when dealing with people he cares for, his silver tongues remains silent.

Jim snorts derisively. “I’m responsible for my ex-fiancee losing our child. I’m not a man who should ever look after a living creature.”

Oswald wants to interrupt him but for once, the Captain’s armor cracks.

“What did I ever achieve?” he asks. “What good did I ever do? Before my arrival in Gotham, the city was corrupt to its core, yet stable. I brought even more violence to Gotham, I jumbled up the old order but what for? Is this city any less rotten? Have crime-rates gone down?”

Taking in a shuddering breath, he continues. “I fought a war against you, brought Sofia Falcone here, but what for? I fought fire with fire and wondered why everything exploded. My actions led nowhere, Oswald!” He’s outright screaming at this point.

“This city is being held together by your organization, and whenever I drag you down, worse men, more cruel men follow. It took me too long to realize that, and others paid a terrible price. Lee, our baby, colleagues, friends, you! I sent you to Arkham -  for nothing! And for whatever reason, I’m coming out unscathed, always. And now, after everything I did, you’re giving me a present? I don’t deserve this, I can’t have this…”

“Jim…,” Oswald utters helplessly but the other man doesn’t want to hear it. He simply stares into the distance, unable to react to his own name.

But what should he say anyway? How could he ever make him understand how deeply he feels about him, despite all his flaws. He admires Jim, regards him as his hero, his knight in shining armor. He is the last honest man, the only man who still has morals, integrity. Jim never adapted to Gotham’s rules, he always stayed true to himself, fought his war and carried on like the honorable soldier he is.

The Penguin though had always been able to determine when a man is utterly broken, when he’s beyond repair, and ready to receive the final blow. When making business, this is the moment for him to strike. It’s a crucial point. If he attacks right now, victory will be his. The Penguin exploits weaknesses and Jim Gordon is so very, very _weak_ right now.

And it’s also the very moment the Penguin, the selfish, reckless bastard, and Oswald Cobblepot, the hopeless romantic, truly become one and attack.

Oswald doesn’t even think, just leans forward and encircles Jim’s waist. He’s utterly inexperienced but he knows exactly what and who he wants and when he can have it.

Pressing his lips against the other man’s, he silences Jim’s self-loathing tirade. He pushes past his barriers, practically forces his tongue into his mouth until Jim has no other choice but to surrender.

It’s not even a kiss at first, more a battle for dominance Oswald is intent on winning, but then Jim’s arms embrace him and he’s being pulled against his chest. Afterward, there’s nothing but heat and want.

Oswald wants, wants, wants.

Jim walks him backward, to the blue sofa in his living room, and pushes. And then he feels his weight pressing him down, the heat emanating from his body. He inhales his fresh, clean cologne and closes his eyes.

Somewhere beside him, the little dog barks, but it doesn’t matter. They’ll feed him later, or take him for a walk, or do whatever the creature wants.

His long fingers curl desperately into Jim’s shirt, crumpling the fabric. He doesn’t care. He simply wants to tear it off, have the man beneath the fabric finally for himself. Frantic little gasps and moans escape his throat, undignified sounds he would be ashamed of under any other circumstances.

Even now, Oswald is greedy. Even when Jim is kissing him along his throat he needs more, desires more. His legs are being pushed apart and he gasps. He has to say something, wants Jim to know what he feels.

Before he can stop himself, the words tumble from his lips, a truth he can’t contain anymore. It’s the reason for Jim still being alive despite everything he did and what he would be doing in the future. A most simple truth, quite obvious, really.

“I love you. I love you. I love you,” he chants between kisses, effectively breaking whatever spell the Captain is under.

Jim stills above him, stops moving entirely and pulls back enough to look at his face. His expression is unreadable despite the flush creeping up his face and his wide, lust-blown eyes. Or Oswald could just never read the cop. He fails whenever it comes to one Jim Gordon, over and over again.

“I know,” Jim whispers, barely audible.

Oswald expects Gordon to jump to his feet now, to throw him out of his flat and to pretend this never ever happened. Instead, he moves his body just enough to lie somewhat comfortably beside him. His eyes are almost black when they stare back at him.

The Penguin is trapped between a heavy body and a backrest. He wants to bolt. He never wants to move again.

The silence stretches, becoming unbearable in the process until Oswald can’t help laughing. He’s laughing like a maniac, like the psychopath he is. If you can’t cry, you simply have to laugh, right?

“I have a way to ruin the mood,” he chuckles, his voice cutting through the room like one of his knives. “But you, you,” he laughs, almost crying. “ _I know_ ,” he screams. Cause seriously, is there anything worse to say?

Jim rolls onto his back, mutely staring at the ceiling.

“Say something!” Oswald orders. Once again, he had been a fool. An idiot wearing his heart on his sleeve.

“Like?” the other man asks.

And there it is again. Rejection, his old friend.

“I don’t,” he answers jokingly. His voice sounds broken even to his own ears.

Jim’s eyes snap back up to his face, then to the pale, long fingers still lying on his chest.

“Did anyone ever tell you, you have beautiful hands?” he asks instead. Tugging at his wrist, he pulls the murderer beside him onto his chest.

“No.” Oswald grimaces.

“You do,” Jim reassures him.

The mobster rolls his eyes. “Just get over with it and tell me you don’t reciprocate the sentiment.

“I can’t,” he rumbles with a voice seemingly coming straight out of the deepest pits of hell.

The gangster gets angry, impatient. “Why not?” he demands to know.

“It would be a lie,” he simply replies, complete with a little shrug.

Oswald’s breath hitches in his throat. “So you…?” He can’t even finish the sentence.

Jim falls silent, entwines their fingers instead while studying his wrist with great interest. “I can’t tell you what you want to hear,” he whispers while shaking his head.

“Why not?” Oswald has to know. Even if he got more than he could have ever dreamed of. Especially now, when he had almost gotten  _everything_ he wanted but not quite.

The cop beneath him laughs softly. “You would think it would mean I’d make you happy. I won’t,” he promises solemnly.

Oswald desperately closes his eyes and inhales more of Jim’s scent. Slowly, he gets up and searches for the little dog. He should probably leave but his limbs feel heavy and the old pain in his right leg is back. He’s weak but there’s a flicker of hope burning merrily in his chest.

“You know where to find me should you change your mind.”

Jim follows him to the door. “I can’t," he says ruefully while carefully readjusting the gangster’s tie. He doesn’t only mean the furry gift.

Oswald hesitates. His palms are sweaty when placing them on the doorknob. He thinks he should say something to change Jim’s mind. Chester whines in his little cage and the Penguin remembers how much he has to offer. He could give the cop everything he desires and more. There would be no boundaries.

“You know,” he starts, “Gotham is the only city that could be shaped into something different, better if a cop and gangster teamed up. We both left our marks already. We could leave some more marks and make your visions for this city become real.”

The cop remains silent.

“I could do that for you,” Oswald freely offers.

There’s nothing more than a twitch around the corner of Jim’s mouth. “Oswald,” he breathes.

“I could change the city for you.” Desperation is creeping into his voice.

Leaning against the doorframe, Jim shakes his head. “How is it possible?” the Captain’s voice cracks. “How do you do it?” Closing his eyes he inhales deeply. “Every time I’m getting too close to you, I feel like I’m about to sell my soul to the devil.”

Oswald smirks. “Jim, you really shouldn’t believe in devils but in me.”

He can hear Jim leaning heavily against the door when he leaves.


	13. A Bad Plan

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oz hatches a plan to win over the Captain. It does work out, yet differently than expected.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry this took me so long! I rewrote the following part twice and if not for [ Le_Noir (Psycho_Ciquita) ](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Psycho_Chiquita/pseuds/Le_Noir) saving me and proofreading this chapter and [thekeyholder](https://archiveofourown.org/users/thekeyholder/pseuds/thekeyholder) holding my hand, I would still tinker with it. I'm so grateful, guys!!!!!
> 
> Thank you all for reading!!!

Oswald knows Jim will not come running to him, flowers in his hand, breaking down and declaring his undying love.

The Captain isn’t going to simply change sides and play for the dark forces all of a sudden, even if he admittedly has deep feelings for the King of Gotham. Because ultimately, James Gordon still divides the world into light and dark, good and evil.

And Oswald Cobblepot is evil. He himself won’t deny it. After all, he cooked his step-siblings, murdered in cold blood as well as out of rage. He has manipulated and tricked people, and he’ll continue doing so.

In fact, he already does. But this time, Oswald isn’t certain his machinations will work out in his favor. This time, he isn’t playing for money or power. No, he’s trying to win over the Captain’s heart, a heart that is almost lost already.

At first, Oswald hadn’t even noticed how dire the situation was. After kissing Jim and seeing his apartment, the mobster had been certain Harvey was exaggerating. Sure, the man had not been well. 

But outright suicidal? Oswald Cobblepot would have died denying Jim Gordon could ever stop fighting for Gotham.

In his eyes, the man only needed a little nudge in the right direction. Just a slight disillusionment, a wake-up call that would make Jim see how the world isn’t only black and white and never truly would be. And how it is, despite everything, still worth fighting for.

He wanted to make him believe that his promise of changing the city had not only been empty words but a vow. He wanted to convince Jim how he could become his moral compass as he could become Jim’s most effective weapon in his war for justice.

His plan had been to show Jim how he had been another man’s moral compass before, how he already improves the city on a daily basis.

His heart had been pure when hatching the plan. Well, as pure as the heart of a murderer could be. Besides, he’s not some deluded serial killer who runs around finding victims for the sake of cutting a throat. Sometimes, needs must. It’s as simple as that. 

Of course, his plan had backfired. Or Oswald had simply not thought it through. That becomes horrifyingly obvious when squinting at Jim’s pale, shaking figure beside him.

The Captain of the GCPD is currently driving Oswald Cobblepot and Harvey Bullock through the streets of Gotham. Mouth pressed into a thin line, he keeps glancing at rear mirror.

Bullock squirms uncomfortably under his gaze.

“Are you alright?” he asks for the about hundredth time, looking suspiciously at his friend. 

Harvey sighs long and deeply. “Told you already buddy, I’m fine. You and your little gangster arrived just in time before I would have had to get some brand-new kneecaps.”

Jim nods tersely. “I’ll drop you off at your place?” he asks.

Reaching over from the backseat, Harvey puts a consoling hand onto Jim’s shoulder. “Are you sure _you_ are alright?” he inquires skeptically.

“Of course, of course,” the Captain replies distractedly.

Bullock still looks quizzically at his friend. “There are no hard feelings?” he wants to know and Jim shakes his head again.

Oswald feels bad for Jim. Gripping his cane tightly, he looks away from the other man’s profile. Not because he wouldn’t still be handsome or desirable, quite the contrary, there isn’t much Oswald wants more than Jim Gordon. Yet he looks so goddamn exhausted, it’s physically painful to watch him even for a moment longer.

And it’s Oswald’s fault.

“And there are _really_ no hard feelings?” Harvey asks again and Jim shakes his head in annoyance.

“Of course not,” he says, mustering a wide smile for his friend.

Finally leaning back, Bullock seems to relax.

“If anything, I haven’t really been a good friend,” Jim carries on. “You should have told me, Harv,” he says, flashing his colleague a severe stare over the mirror.

“Jim, I really had it under control,” the other man defends himself. “Just, this night... it got a bit outta hand.” The cop laughs uneasily. “Could we rather not…” he trails off, nodding towards the kingpin. 

Jim’s grip around the steering wheel tightens and he almost lets it slide. “I knew you had a drinking problem,” he says instead. “I knew you went to prostitutes now and then. I knew that’s why you had financial troubles…” 

“Honestly, Jim. I’d rather we won’t unpack that in front of him,” the other cop bellows. 

“And _why_ the fuck not?” Jim barks back. “He already knows more than me! And I’m your best friend. But you made me just team up with the crime-lord of Gotham to bail you out of a  Chinese gambling den ‘cause you managed to lose 50 grand in one night! And I didn’t even know!”  

“Because I didn’t want you to!” he hollers back. “Jim, really. You know I’m no saint.”

“How did that work until tonight?” he presses. “Did you run to Oswald whenever anything went wrong?” Gritting his teeth, Jim takes a sharp turn to the right. 

“So you’re calling him Oswald now?” 

“It’s his goddamn name!” 

Closing his eyes, the gangster in question tries to tune out their bickering. Earlier this evening, he had practically forced Gordon on his doorstep. And now he’s paying the price. He should have expected that bringing the Captain low again would do more harm than good. 

It had started with Harvey losing some money at a gambling den, which in itself wasn’t unusual. The only unusual thing tonight had been the kingpin’s refusal to pay for his debts immediately. Instead, when Harvey had called, he had told Butch to inform the cop he wouldn’t be available. 

Bullock had lost a fairly big amount but nothing the kingpin wouldn’t have been willing to cover in return for valuable intel. But tonight, he had decided he wanted Jim to come to his place, begging for his friend's life.

He had known it was an amount Jim wouldn’t be able to cover, an amount Harvey could not simply borrow from the evidence room. With Bruce Wayne currently gone from Gotham, Jim had practically no other option but turning to Oswald Cobblepot when Harvey ultimately called him for help.

After all, not even hero-cop Jim Gordon can take on two dozen heavily armed gangsters and expect to get his friend out alive. So when Harvey had asked him for help, Jim had no other choice but to cut away another piece of his dignity and go to the Penguin for help.

In his imagination, Oswald had pictured Jim coming to him somewhat romantic. He would have told him about his friend in need and he would have been happy to help, showing him in the process how utterly selfless he could be.

Meanwhile, he could have taught Jim a lesson on people not being simply good or evil. He would have shown the cop how he had improved Harvey’s character. He would have told him about the times the other man used to work for, and with Fish Mooney, and how far he had been willing to go back then and how often he had broken the law in the good old times. 

Yet, there had been nothing romantic about the broken man turning up on his doorstep. The old Jim, the man who would bark orders or slam the Penguin against walls had been wiped out, replaced by a hollow ghost.

He hadn’t even denied what had happened the last time they met. “I know what it looks like,” Jim had started before explaining to Oswald everything he already knew. “I know it must seem to you I’m….” 

“Whoring yourself out?” Zsasz had supplied unhelpfully from the door. 

Oswald had practically jumped at hearing his subordinate’s voice. He hadn’t even noticed the assassin eavesdropping. The King of Gotham had hardly ever been more enraged. If not for Jim, he would have strangled the other man with his bare hands. Instead, he smiled tightly and merely gestured for Victor to leave immediately. There would be consequences, though.

“Exactly that,” Jim had confirmed, looking Oswald straight in the eye. Outwardly, he seemed completely calm. The mobster hadn’t missed how his mouth twitched nervously.

“My dear, old friend,” he exclaimed consolingly. “I would never think anything this abhorrent about you.”

“You rather should,” he replied while Oswald opened his safe, gathering the needed money. 

The entire time, Jim had been silent, meek. At this point, hearing him scream in the car is almost consoling. At least it shows there’s still some life left in the Captain. Oswald had forced Jim to debase himself again instead of making the intended progress. 

It seems like everything Oswald loves burns to ashes. So far, he has at least managed to keep his son safe from his poisonous touch. 

It had been Martin, his sweet, clever son, who had opened his eyes. Sadly, he hadn’t been able to see anything.

Three days ago, his boy had told him that he had found a new friend. Martin had been nervous about it, fearing his dad, his co-conspirator, would not understand. But Oswald had been thrilled and overjoyed that his son had finally found a kid of his own age to share his interests with. 

Knowing all too well what loneliness and poverty feel like, Oswald only ever wanted for his child to be happy. Martin deserves everything he wants - including, of course, mutuals.

Martin’s new friend’s name is Henry. His son had invited this kid to sleep at the Van Dahl mansion because he wanted to show him the new puppy and play video-games all night. The mobster had been nervous about having another child at his home but he had agreed.

And then his boy had told him his friend’s parents were moving into a new home. Henry was annoyed by his mom cleaning their old flat vigorously.

Obviously, if you plan on leaving a place forever, you should always leave it behind in a pristine state.

At that moment, he finally understood what Jim cleaning his own apartment meticulously indeed meant.

Oswald originally thought it had been a sign of Harvey exaggerating and Jim still having his life under control. He had started to doubt that when Martin told him about his new friend. And now he knows Bullock had been right all along, Jim simply keeps his apartment clean for his colleagues who will inevitably have to clean up after him once he’s gone for good.

Harvey must know it’s the worst possible moment for Jim to find out about his friend’s personal troubles, too. His mental health had been spiraling south in the last couple of weeks. The Penguin hadn’t noticed and Bullock had been unable to do anything about it.

Coming back from his musings, the mobster tries to be nonchalant about it. “Honestly, Jim. It’s not such a big deal. We all got to keep our teeth. Especially Harvey,” he jokes lamely while pondering if putting his hand on the Captain’s arm would be a good idea. 

Jim stares at him with a blank expression. “Yeah, we’re a great team,” he drawls sarcastically. “The two dirty cops and the gangster who always helps them out.”

For a moment, Oswald dares to hope the man has finally come around. 

“I’m really just another crooked cop,” he huffs instead and the mobster's shoulders slump.

“Jim,” he starts gently. “We have done that before. Playing a bit beside the rules for the greater good.” The other man doesn’t reply.

Harvey looks worried when they finally stop at his place. It’s a small consolidation for the Penguin to know that the cop doesn’t suspect him any longer in being the reason for Jim’s latest foray into depression-wonderland. 

“Whatever this is,” Bullock hisses into the mobster’s ear when exiting the car, “You should talk him out of it.”

The Penguin wants to laugh. Harvey and Jim have been friends for years and now he’s the one that has to mend this? He nods instead and waits for the other cop to drive him back home. 

Jim runs a hand through his hair and starts the engine. It dawns on Oswald how they are alone again in a little cocoon and he can’t help but enjoy the feeling. It’s just so safe in the limited space of a car, there’s simply nowhere to run and no possibility of hiding.

“Your recent behavior is starting to become worrisome,” the gangster commences with a little sideways glance. 

Jim ignores him. “You’ll get the money back,” he says instead.

Oswald merely rolls his eyes. Frankly, he couldn’t care less. It’s not really a sum worth mentioning to him anyway. Besides, it’s a hollow promise and Jim surely knows it.

“Are you hungry?” he wants to know after a moment, startling the crime-lord. “They opened a small Hungarian restaurant not far from my place. They make this… “ He sighs. “I really can’t pronounce it. It’s some kind of pancake stuffed with meat. Tastes good,” he adds with a lopsided smile.

Oswald gapes at the man sitting beside him. This was the last thing the Penguin expected out of him. Somehow, Jim seems to be on a mission to put him through the wringer.

“Are you asking me out?” he demands to know, a shy, hopeful smile playing around his lips.

“I suppose,” Jim shrugs. “I guess I owe you an apology.” He clicks his tongue against his teeth. “Or two. And maybe an explanation. Well, the same goes for Harvey, probably.”

Oswald is too shocked to answer right away. 

“So?” Jim presses, glancing at him uncertainly. 

“I guess I could spare some time,” he answers haughtily, mentally kicking himself on how that came out. The cop doesn’t seem to mind though, already turning the car instead.

The place is indeed small. Only five tables, dimly lit and almost empty. The Penguin doubts the food will be edible but if James Gordon is finally willing to talk about his odd behavior and their frankly awkward relationship, he’s willing to wolf down some cardboard. 

He knows the dish Jim had been talking about, Hortobágyi palacsinta, and taking in the state of the place, he already fears for his taste buds. The cop on the other hand finally seems to relax when ordering their dishes directly from their cook.

The man looks like the embodiment of a bad cliché. He’s hunched over, slightly overweight and wearing a jacket decorated with various sauce-stains. Oswald fears for his health, too, but when Jim smiles encouragingly, he takes his first bite with death-defying courage.

It’s, in fact, edible. Not nearly as good as his mother would have made it but the way Jim looks at him almost makes up for it. He should probably be mad at the other man. After their last encounter, he hasn’t heard a single word from him. And now they are on a date after Jim almost having a mental breakdown over Harvey. 

Oswald snorts. Jim obviously has a thing for the crazy ones. Not that he’d describe himself as mentally stable either, but Jim is currently another level off the rocker. 

“You wanted to tell me something?” he says warmly after taking his first bite. Meanwhile, his friend is pushing his own food around on his plate, staring helplessly at the chunks of meat and pancake.

“I did.” He pauses to chew and Oswald wonders when was the last time Jim had eaten anything other than frozen pizza or hot dogs. Probably when he had been looking after Ed. 

“I found Brian Gold’s murderer,” he starts slowly. “He tried to rip off his cartel and paid the price. I arrested the thug who pulled the trigger. From there on it’s a dead end.”

Oswald nods. That’s at least some good news but definitely not why they are both here. Jim plays with his glass of water while studying the Penguin sadly. 

“Did you ever feel like an entire failure?” he asks rhetorically and the mobster leans slightly forward. He could probably tell him about the time he was released from Arkham, his mother gone forever and his mind in tatters. Yet a single word would stop whatever Jim is about to tell him.

“When coming to Gotham, I wanted to be nothing more than an honest cop. I wanted to follow the law and the rules. Instead, I bent them a little, then broke them completely. And I picked and chose the rules I wanted to obey, for the love of the greater good. ‘Cause I thought if I break my own rules only once, or if I go just a little bit further, it wouldn’t hurt.” The cop squirms in his seat before looking the other man in the eye.

“Well, the city is stable,” Oswald remarks lightly him but Jim merely shakes his head.

“No thanks to me or the GCPD,” he huffs. “This city is ruled by gangsters and psychopaths. That’s exactly the reason the Court of Owls decided to destroy it entirely. I sometimes wonder if they should have simply done it. A fresh start from scratch. Of course, that’s mass murder and insane. But I don’t think…” His voice trails off and Oswald remains silent. For once, he’s completely calm in the other man’s company. If he truly wants Jim, this is his time to listen. Holding his breath, Oswald gestures for him to continue.

“I don’t think anything in Gotham truly makes a difference. You are Falcone’s heir and nobody can tell who will follow you. Did I ever tell you it was Sofia who brought Pyg to Gotham? It was her plan so she could destabilize your system of crime licenses.” 

Putting his own fork down, he nods. He had known all of that before. After Sofia getting shot and falling into a coma, he made it his personal mission to find everything out about his opponent and her machinations. Jim would have never agreed to the alliance if he’d even assumed the woman would go as far as murdering his colleagues. He would’ve never expected Jim to admit it, though.

“I didn’t know at the time,” Jim carries on. “But I failed to do the right thing when I finally found out. Should have stepped down and face my trial.” He shrugs. “I’ve been a coward. As always.” Smiling awkwardly, he waits for the Penguin to confirm that last statement. Oswald would never do that.

“Let you rot in Arkham for a murder I committed and walked away when you needed my help,” he finishes, taking a sip from his water with trembling hands.

“You have been right all along, Oswald,” he whispers. “I turned reckless and irresponsible. I’m not a man who should take care of this city. Last time, you offered to change this city for me, but I’m too far gone to differ good from bad anymore. I became part of this city’s problem, not the solution. I’ve finally come to acknowledge that.” 

He takes in a deep breath while Oswald slowly tries to recover. He would not have thought it possible for Jim to possess such a level of self-awareness. But here they are at least. His hero admits his sins and it’s probably the most sincere apology he’s ever gotten.

“You tried to do the right thing, though,” he declares in response. “That is more than any other man in Gotham ever did. And you did make a difference,” he sighs. “Whenever required, Harvey does the right thing, thanks to you. A bit of gambling or drinking doesn’t change that,” he consoles, but Jim isn’t having it.

“You offered me to work together with you,” he points out. “I teamed up with Sofia before and it destroyed her. Aren’t you afraid? You saw what happened to Lee, too. For some reason, you seem to have put me on a pedestal but the man you probably see in me, the man you met all those years ago behind Mooney’s club, has long ceased to exist.” 

His hands are still shaking when picking up his fork again. Oswald doesn’t know what to say. No, he’s not afraid. In fact, he hasn’t been this fearless in such a long time. Yes, the cop is still fighting, it’s not easy on him, but finally, he’s opening his eyes to the truth.

He chose to love Jim a long time ago and nothing he’s done so far has managed to change that. Should he simply tell him that it doesn’t matter to him? That he wants this tainted version of James Gordon anyway? Jim could make him better and he would probably end up dragging him further down. They would be trapped in an endless, vicious circle, probably destroying each other like nothing else ever could. 

Or Jim could finally start believing in them. Closing his eyes, the Penguin tries thinking of a solution. Of course, the stubborn bastard would make something as simple as finally admitting his feelings and what they both could be able to do this complicated.

“Is that the reason why you want to kill yourself?” he asks curiously, because finally, he has Jim were he wants him to be. At last, he’s being honest with himself. It makes the Penguin feel giddy, his plan worked after all. Not the way he intended, but well enough.

Jim snorts in response. “I’m a coward. Did you already forget that? I simply want to stop existing. Poof,” he says, opening his right hand as if showing him a magic trick. “I wish someone would finally wipe me off the board and I’d get spared the pain of waking up in the morning ever again,” he mumbles, averting the gangster’s eyes. 

Leaning over the table, Oswald extends his hand and laces his fingers with Jim’s. The cop presses back, closing the circuit. His skin is warm, smooth. The Penguin wants to tell him how being alive is a gift. He had almost died before and if he knows one thing, it’s how death can never be desirable. Jim must know it too, somewhere deep down.

“I’m simply angry. Angry at myself how I ruined my life so much,” he admits after a long moment. “And I don’t understand…”

Before Jim can finish the sentence, Oswald squeezes his hand tightly. “I simply think we’ll have to put everything back into perspective for you,” he suggests affectionately.

“How?” Jim demands to know desperately.

Pressing a kiss to Jim’s forehead, the gangster shrugs. “I don’t know yet. Small steps, I suppose.”

He keeps smiling encouragingly despite the cop’s dubious frown. “Come on,” he tells him, slightly pulling on his hand. “Date night isn’t over yet.”

To his delight, Jim gets up and follows him without resistance.


	14. Together

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jim and Oswald finally move forward.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm super sorry this took me so long!!! RL came in the way and the only time I get to write is on the weekend. SORRY!!! I hope you'll like the next installment. Thank you all for your support and extra love for [ Le_Noir (Psycho_Ciquita) ](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Psycho_Chiquita/pseuds/Le_Noir) who fixed my mistakes!!!

“That’s your idea of romance?” Jim asks with a crooked smile, feet dangling merrily from the pier. 

The air is foul and fresh all the same. Oswald tastes salt, oil, and seaweed on the tip of his tongue. He smells Jim’s fresh cologne and the sweetness of his vanilla ice-cream. 

The Captain watches him with an expression torn between curiosity and bemusement when his tongue darts out, wrapping itself around the cone, savoring the icy treat. The mobster’s eyes follow the movement. Staring at Jim’s mouth, he wonders how those cold lips would feel on him and blushes. Give it to Jim Gordon to eat an ice-cream in the middle of March when it’s still freezing. 

He should probably be offended the other man doesn’t immediately understand, but it’s a bit hard with him sitting so close to him, his body-heat warming his aching bones. Jim is like a solid rock, particularly in this context and in this place; A safe anchor keeping him from the pitch black water trying to drown him over and over again. 

Making a choked chiding sound, Oswald grins innocently at the man beside him. They are both sitting at the edge of the pier where their shared story began all those years ago. It’s the very place Oswald Cobblepot died and the Penguin was born. It’s the site of his personal reincarnation and a memento of his greatest fall. He knows exactly how cold the water here is, knows how it tastes and feels, how it burns in his lungs and eyes. He remembers everything about this water whenever he closes his eyes and goes to sleep. It’s a blanket that would cool him even on the hottest summer day. 

If Oswald learned anything here, it’s how death is not the end, it’s just another beginning. Especially in Gotham. Nothing ever really stops, nothing ever stays the same. Especially him and Jim. They have both made mistakes, trusted the wrong people. They had loathed and fought each other and teamed up whenever the situation was most dire. They had started right here, and here they should start again. 

Oswald thinks it’s poetic. Jim thinks it’s macabre to come back here. 

“You exiled me from Gotham right here, on this spot,” the mobster declares, mouth hardening into a thin line. 

“I remember,” Jim replies drily. He stares down at the water sloshing against the concrete and Oswald wonders what he’s thinking when a drop lands on the tip of his shoe. Did he ever regret not burying him in the floods? 

“I died right here,” he continues. “Literally,” he adds with a little snort when Jim turns his head in surprise. “Ed shot me in the gut on this pier. You see, Gotham tried getting rid of me more than once.”

“You came back,” the cop notes, expression unreadable.

Oswald nods. “I own the harbor now,” he explains with a little shrug. 

Usually, he wouldn’t feel insecure about revealing his influence or his power. But around Jim, he’s always a bit nervous. He’s giddy, like a kid showing a secret hideout to a friend. Or, well, he assumes that’s what it would have felt like if ever had friends. 

“Nothing enters or leaves Gotham without my knowing.” 

Jim acknowledges that statement solely with a curious glance. When opening his mouth, Oswald expects him to ask questions about everything that gets smuggled, about the goods, and possibly the other people controlling the harbor. 

Instead, he bumps his shoulder slightly against his. “Good. I was already afraid we’d get shot in the back any second.” Jim pauses. “Well, I suppose that could still happen,” he grumbles sarcastically. “We’re quite literally sitting ducks out here.”

Oswald chuckles. “I can assure you, Captain, nobody would dare to. Besides, it’s too dark to get a good shot.” 

Scooting closer to the edge, Oswald allows for his bad leg to fall over. With his destroyed limb dangling freely from the pier, the pain is almost bearable. Jim jerks beside him at the movement. One heavy arm shoots out and wraps itself protectively around his slim hips, pulling him slightly back.

“What the hell are you doing?” Jim scolds angrily. 

For the briefest moment, Oswald allows himself to lean against the other man’s broad chest. Resting his head in the crook of Jim’s neck, he closes his eyes. Smiling to himself, he starts playing with the cufflinks of his shirt. 

“Relieving my leg,” he explains, grinning mischievously. “But please continue doing your duty,” he adds when Jim removes his arm reluctantly. 

The cop beside him snorts. “You’re terrible,” he states while the gangster already misses the warmth. 

To his delight, Jim scoots closer. “Just making sure you don’t fall in,” he mumbles unconvincingly. 

When he speaks again, his breath is hot against his ear, the arm lingering against his hip soothing. It’s not the question Oswald would have expected, but maybe he should have, given the place. Jim probably thinks that’s what they are here for.

“Why did Ed try shooting you after killing his girlfriend? You two controlled this city, I never understood what happened.” 

The mobster sighs. His plans concerning Jim always have a flaw. Somehow he’s never capable of stirring the man towards the direction he wants him to go. The cop must think it was Ed who manipulated Isabella’s car under the influence of his Riddler persona. 

“Did it ever cross your mind that I killed that woman?” he asks tentatively. 

Jim frowns. “No,” he admits to Oswald’s utter delight. And wouldn’t it be fantastic if that truth could stay buried forever with Isabelle? Jim Gordon, the man who always thought the worst of him regards him as innocent for once, but he’s guilty as sin.

 “Oswald, why are we here?” the Captain urges. 

“Well, not because of Ed.” The mobster purses his lips in disdain. “But since you mentioned it…,” 

“You started this when telling me he shot you right here,” Jim reminds him. Pulling slightly back, he scowls at the mobster with an expression usually reserved for the interrogation room. 

“Right,” Oswald sighs in exasperation. Suppressing the urge to chew on his fingernails, the criminal slightly pulls away from Jim. Leaning back, he presses his hands flat against the concrete for support. 

He wonders what to tell Jim. Originally, he wanted to pull the wool from his eyes. He wanted to show him how deep the corruption in Gotham truly runs. He wanted to show him how utterly useless his efforts to save the city have been so far and propose changing it again for him. At last, he feared it would be too dangerous. Tipping him over the edge is the last thing he wants. Jim is already too  disillusioned, too lonely, too  _ sad _ for the lack of a better word. What he truly needs is hope. And Oswald is ready to give the other man everything he wants. If it’s hope, then so be it. 

“I think the view is quite lovely,” he replies with a lopsided grin. 

Jim rolls his eyes. “And all those sweet memories.”

The gangster ponders how to continue. He brought Jim to the pier for a reason. He wants to give the man a present as well as proposing a deal. It’s a precarious thing. Even more so with Jim’s question about Ed. 

“It never really crossed your mind  _ I  _ killed that poor woman?”

He can’t see Jim’s face in the darkness but he hears how his breath hitches. This truth is a dangerous thing. When this night is over, they could end up being enemies again. But now that the question is out in the open, there’s no way around it. Oswald  _ wants  _ Jim. And lies piled upon lies won’t make for a good start into the future. 

“I saw the way you’ve been looking at Ed. You cared about him very much. The way I see it, you let nothing harm the people you love.” 

His voice not once wavers. It’s a simple statement and probably the sweetest thing Jim has ever said about him. A proof the man indeed regards him as something more than a monster. 

Humming in agreement, Oswald stares into the darkness of the sea. “And if I had?” he asks again. 

“Then I’d have to arrest you,” Jim declares with determination. “But you haven’t,” he adds with even more certainty. Turning around he stares directly into the criminal’s eyes and the mobster’s breath hitches in his throat. The man before him is one who knows the truth exactly, knew it probably before - and decided to ignore it. 

Yes, Jim has indeed turned into a crooked cop over the years. How many times did he turn to him instead of doing what is right? How many times did he compromise already? Which crimes he committed did he overlook? 

“Would you really arrest me?” Oswald can’t help asking and the desperate noise Jim makes in return speaks volumes. 

“A man we all assumed was dead used to be the centerpiece of your club,” he snaps back in response. “But yes. Yes, I would if I had no other choice.”

Maybe Oswald should be satisfied with this answer but he must push Jim. Either into his arms or so far away from him he doesn’t come back. “When would that be?”

For a moment, the criminal is certain the other man will get up and leave. He pulls his leg towards his chest, rocks forward and then decides to stay put. “If I had to choose between killing or arresting you.” He shrugs while dropping the remaining cone into the water. “There are powerful forces in this city beside you, Oswald. You know that.” 

The gangster nods. Yes, he might be one of the most powerful players in Gotham but so is Jim. And so are countless others. Some are known, some are still lurking in the shadows.  

“I could never truly corrupt you,” Oswald pauses. “But you’ve teamed up with me over and over again.”

“You were always on Gotham’s side,” Jim sighs. “You  _ are  _ Gotham. But I messed up when turning to Sofia. And now I have to live with the consequences. I thought I could distract myself and for a while, that almost worked...” His voice cracks and Jim leaves the sentence unfinished. The Penguin knows what he wants to say though. He can see how the guilt and the loneliness are eating him up from the inside. 

“So you want to give up and throw yourself in front of a bullet?” the mobster asks curiously. 

Silence is the only answer he gets. “You can’t serve Gotham as a corpse,” he tells him softly. 

“I haven’t served Gotham in while. I’ve only brought destruction. Oswald, I became what I fought against when coming here,” Jim admits ruefully. 

It’s not true, the gangster thinks. He has seen what embracing your inner darkness truly means. Jim is still one of the good guys, he always will be. Whenever being forced to choose between good and evil, Jim would never choose evil. He may struggle, he may make horrible mistakes but at the end of the day, he’d be a hero.  

“This city needs something more than me. This city needs hope, a symbol, something…anything else but me.”

“What you’re talking about is a vigilante,” the Penguin snorts. “What this city needs, is someone with enough power to truly make a difference. And I can be that man. Together with you,” he states with a little jut of his chin. 

“But why me?” the cop cries out, frustrated. “After everything…”

“Because I love you!” Oswald bursts out. “Because I’ve loved you for so long.” Taking Jim’s face between his hands, he forces him to look into his eyes. “Because it was always you.”

“But…”

“There are no ‘buts’,” the Penguin growls. “I might be a psychopath. I might not care about the value of human life, but I care about you. I care about Martin. I have the power to give both of you everything you dream of. I will change this city for you if that is what you want but you need to be my conscience. I don’t have one, it’s true.”

His hands fall to his side, numb and powerless. Why can’t Jim see? Why won’t he understand?

“We can’t be together,” Jim whispers, at last, gently reaching for his wrist.  

“Why not?”

“Because I am what I am. And you are what you are,” he explains softly. “And maybe we’d be happy for a while but you would miss being a crime-lord and I’d miss being a cop. We define ourselves as the men we have become. What would you suggest? Meetings in secrecy? Lies? It would destroy us,” Jim finishes. 

Slowly releasing his hand, the cop starts to get up.  

“Stay put!” It’s a harsh command and it’s intended to be one. “It is you who keeps coming back again and again. It’s you who demands favors, who took care of my dog, who came after me when Martin was in danger.  _ You  _ made yourself part of my life and I’m not allowing you to come and go as you please any longer.”

Surprised, Jim stops. Opening his mouth, he wants to say something but the Penguin lifts his cane and the man falls silent. “I have never defined myself as a gangster. I strive for power, I need to be in control,” he carries on, slowly rising to his feet. “I can exert my influence legally or not. I really don’t care,” he shrugs. “But you could give me a reason to. Care, that is.”

“That’s too much of a responsibility,” Jim whispers, appalled. 

“Are you scared, Jim Gordon?” the Penguin demands to know. “Scared that you could really make a difference?” 

“It wouldn't be that way,” he contradicts, stubborn as always. “I would end up being another one of your lackeys.”

“I would never ask you to do anything against your will,” the mobster objects. 

Shacking his head, Jim turns to leave and finally, Oswald’s temper flares. “I have always been honest with you. I kept each and every one of my promises. It has always been you who acted like a coward. It’s you who left me in Arkham, it’s you who choose to believe I murdered my own child….”

“Then you probably should stop your putting trust in me! And it’s not you I’m afraid of. What do you expect? That we declare our love on the cover of the Gotham Gazette? Your allies will come flocking up to you, expecting you to ask me to look away! What would become of you, if you decided to date the cop who arrested half of your business partners? Did you ever think about that?!”

The Penguin’s face darkens as anger threatens to overpower him. The rage, his old friend, is coursing through his veins. But by now, he learned to control it. For Jim and Martin, he could always be patient. As well as for his mother, a long time ago. 

“Look at the ship approaching the shore,” he orders haughtily. Reluctantly, Jim follows his gaze. “It’s loaded with stretched drugs,” he explains. “Drugs that could and probably will kill the people consuming them.”

“Why are you telling me this?”

“Because I need you to understand what a true partnership between us could mean,” he screeches in frustration. “The men on this ship betrayed me. The goods on this ship arriving in Gotham equals mindless murder, and I’ve never supported such a thing. Despite all my flaws, I strive for order.”

“Those men betrayed you and you want me to arrest them,” Jim concludes. His voice is flat, stripped of any emotion. The disappointment emanating from the man is almost palpable. Lying is not an option. 

“Yes,” the gangster hisses. “Yes. They broke our deal.” Taking a step forward, he jabs his finger into Jim’s chest. “And tonight, they will either die or end up in prison. It’s  _ your  _ choice, Jim. Together with me, you can cleanse Gotham or allow for criminals like me to uphold the order. This night here could be the start of our partnership, or the definitive end of our alignment. This city can’t change overnight, and it won’t be pretty. But I’m offering you the chance of a true start.”

When the cop takes in a deep breath, Oswald almost expects Jim to run away, to leave him alone on his harbor. Shoulders slumped, he regards the Penguin for a long moment. 

“You want me to take down your opponents.” Fists clenched, the Captain stares intently at the slowly approaching ship. 

“You still don’t understand. I want you to take down all of them. With my help. Until you and I are the last two men standing.”

“I…” Jim works his jaw but no further sound escapes his mouth. 

“You wanted to change this city with brute force and within seconds. You used your fists, your guns, and even Sofia Falcone to do so. Now, I’m offering you my genius. Choose wisely, Captain,” Oswald urges lowly and finally, the Captain cracks. 

It’s a tiny gesture, an almost imperceptible nod that lets Oswald know he has won. 

“Together,” the cop whispers at last and the Penguin hides his emotions behind a smile. If he could, he would break down and cry, or throw himself into Jim’s arms. But it’s neither the place nor the time.

“Together,” he echoes instead and before he can understand what’s happening, Jim leans forward and presses the lightest kiss against his lips. The moment is so short he wouldn’t even be certain it happened if not for the sweet taste of vanilla in the corner of his mouth. The cop is still rigid, tense, but ready to give in and that is everything Oswald could have hoped for. He’s practically vibrating in front of him but there’s also an expression of determination on his face that tells him there’s no going back now. 

“You shouldn’t be here when the GCPD arrives,” the cop mumbles while taking the smallest step closer. A strong hand strokes Oswald’s jaw and his eyes flutter closed. 

“Am I going to see you later?” he asks when Jim removes his hand reluctantly. 

“Yes,” he answers without hesitation.

“Promise?” he presses breathlessly, like a love-struck teenager. 

“Never again,” Jim shoots back, the tiniest smile spreading over his face when Oswald finally makes his way back to his car. 


	15. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jim and Oswald are finally together as they should be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm terribly sad but also excited to say that this story has come to an end. Is it the story I had in mind when I started writing? Well, nope. This should have been a short, fluffy fic about Jim finding Oswald's dog and those two getting together. But then it turned into a tale about Jim caring for Oswald's family and for the gangster in the process, too. Gotta admit it's the most personal thing I've ever written.
> 
> Thank you all for your wonderful comments and your support!! Special thanks to [ Le_Noir (Psycho_Ciquita) ](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Psycho_Chiquita/pseuds/Le_Noir) who agreed to fix my mistakes <3\. 
> 
> I'll be starting a new fic very soon (this time from Jim's POV) if you're interested.

For a while, he and Jim work perfectly together. They’ve arrived in a safe little bubble where nothing hurts and nothing is real.  

Jim comes to the mansion almost every day, whether to play with the dogs or care for Martin. Some mornings they wake up entangled in each other's arms, feeling warm and safe before their days start anew. They don’t talk much about the past, ignore it as if it has almost never existed. Of course, it has led them to where they are now, but neither of them is willing to admit that. 

Oswald pretends to still be a gangster, Jim pretends to still be an incorruptible cop while they take down the Penguin’s opponents one by one. They are playing house, acting as if they’re normal people, before turning around, gritting their teeth, and pulling their weapons. 

Oswald isn’t delusional, knows their bubble will burst rather sooner than later but it’s nice for now. It’s nice coming home and finding Jim standing in his kitchen, arguing with Martin whether to remove the crust from the bread or not. At one point, he has simply moved in with them but they’d be both hard pressed to pinpoint when and how it exactly happened. Jim still keeps his apartment, though.

The gangster knows their arrangement won’t magically heal the cop’s depressions or lift the guilt from his shoulders; It’s simply a patch distracting them both from reality. 

But for now, Jim has given in - entirely. He dove into their relationship with the same vigor he does anything and everything. 

Once committed to Oswald, it seems there’s no turning back or any second thoughts on the cop’s part. He’s dedicated to the mobster and his little family as much as he’s dedicated to his job. The little kiss pressed to his temple every night right before he falls asleep is proof of that.

Maybe it is because Oswald has truly given him everything he always desired, right down to Gotham’s twisted version of a home complete with white picket fences and a son to care for. Never mind the fact the little boy in question is astonishingly well versed when it comes to guns and knives. 

How shocked the Captain had been when first walking in on Oswald giving his kid a lesson on gun safety. But soon he had adapted to the facts, had taken the weapon from the child’s hands, and corrected his stance. Jim Gordon has fallen for a mobster and is too weak to fight it any longer.  

Oswald thinks their fairytale will end when the Gazette finds out about their affair. They depict Jim as the worst kind of hypocrite, the fallen hero-cop who would now team up with Gotham’s enemy number one.  

To his surprise, Jim merely shrugs it off. “I’ve been a monster in the eyes of the public before - and a saint,” he added. “Nothing new about that.” 

At this point, Jim is already accustomed to his colleagues despising and even outright hating him. Of course, they make jokes about him, call him names for not only being with a man, but with the man he has hunted for so long. His quest to arrest Cobblepot had endangered the members of the GCPD more than once and now he openly shares a bed with the enemy? The sheer audacity! But in the end, the cops breathe a sigh of relief through their noses and thank whatever deity they believed in for the peace and quiet now blessing the precinct. They don’t know he and Jim are fighting their own, lonely war against the other criminals populating Gotham. 

To the gangsters, the Penguin is a wizard, a being equipped with almost superhuman powers to get James Gordon to bend his knee and accept how the city is run. To the GCPD, James Gordon had finally seen the light. 

It’s exactly that kind of credulity that makes their job somewhat manageable, and it reminds Oswald of his first years in Gotham. He’s back to doing what he’s best at: scheming and manipulating people, playing them like his personal puppets. Only one thing is different now, he’s got Jim Gordon watching his back. It makes him feel alive, powerful, giddy. 

Yet their arrangement is bound to end, Oswald knows, and he dreads the day this false idyll will come crashing down and shatter his heart and soul. He’s absolutely certain that after everything he has done, being happy and in love will only be a fleeting experience, a footnote in his existence, a gift given to heighten the pain about to follow. 

Still, he’ll enjoy each and every second right until the end, hoping he’ll be prepared when their final day together comes. 

The end comes in the shape of Bruce Wayne.  

One day, the boy turns up on their doorstep, demanding to talk in private to the Captain of the GCPD. He isn’t afraid of either of them, knowing full well Gordon would never allow for the desperate orphan he once promised to find the murderer of his parents to get hurt. 

Oswald knows the Wayne boy is here to pass his judgment, and unlike Harvey, who is too corrupted himself to properly speak up against their relationship, the boy is morally superior to them all. Bruce Wayne has come to take Gordon back home and fight crime properly, sincerely, and not by merely fooling the world. 

The mobster turns on his heel, leaves them alone as requested, wondering how long it will take for Jim to storm upstairs, pack his bags and flee the mansion. It doesn’t take long, though. Only moments later, the Captain comes after him. 

Jim unlaces his shoes and settles down on the bed beside him. They don’t talk, just lie close to each other like so many times since that day on the pier when Gordon finally decided to rather work with and not against Cobblepot. The cop takes the gangster’s hand, entwines their fingers and places the Penguin’s hand above his heart. 

“Bruce Wayne believes I have broken my promise to protect Gotham.” In the stillness of the room, his voice is louder than an explosion and Oswald tenses beside him. Of course, the boy wouldn’t understand, but his verdict on Gordon is everything. Should Jim have lost the kid’s trust, chances are good he’ll turn his back on Oswald.  

“I told him you and I are now doing everything in our power to change this city,” he carries on. “I told him what you have given me. That day on the pier, when you demanded me to arrest those dealers, no blood was spilled, no one got injured and maybe hundreds were saved. I told him we didn’t stop there, that we carried on and on.”

“Isn’t that right, Oswald?” Jim turns onto his side, faces him as if seeing him for the first time. It’s different how he says his name now. It doesn’t any longer sound like an insult but like a prayer, an endearment, a love confession. 

“It is,” Oswald confirms, slowly allowing himself to breathe again. 

“We’re truly making a difference now,” he carries on, eyes still trained intently on his mobster. “And we’re not caring whether our reputation is about to get damaged in the process.” 

At this point, Oswald isn’t certain Jim is talking to him or just reassuring himself he made the right decision but it doesn’t matter anyway. 

“I told Bruce that we’re, despite everything, lost causes.” Jim snorts self-deprecatingly. “But at least we’ve admitted to being what we are. Maybe one day, he’ll become what I could have never been. The hero this city deserves and a symbol of hope. But as long as that doesn’t happen, we’ll protect Gotham as best as we can.”

Oswald hums in agreement. There’s nothing he can say. Not after he’s been so certain Bruce Wayne would set the cop’s head straight and drag him away from him, tossing him into solitude again in the process.  

Shifting closer, Jim’s fingers start dancing up and down Oswald’s spine. Those big blue eyes burnt their way into his soul the very first time they met. How could it happen that Oswald Chesterfield Cobblepot has given a single human being so much power over him? Jim is counting each bone leading up to his head, cradling it carefully in his hands once he arrives. 

They have both seen the malevolent darkness that is a part of each other’s being and somehow learned to live with it, accept it, even. 

Jim pulls him into his arm, bestows a kind of safety upon him not even his mother was ever able to give him and closes his eyes as he presses a tender kiss against his mouth. This is what coming home means. All those years, Oswald had been missing exactly _that_ . He can’t truly describe what _that_ means. He simply feels like finally calming down, no longer longing or yearning for the missing piece of a puzzle. _This_ won’t be taken from him, not any more and finally, the Penguin is at ease. 

For Oswald, it had always been Jim. Only Jim. Solely Jim. 

“I never thanked you,” the cop breathes against his lips. 

“What for?” he asks back, too distracted to figure out what his man might mean. 

“For giving me back hope when I had none left.” 

Whatever Oswald wants to say in response get swallowed by an insistent kiss as Jim rolls him unto his back and nimble fingers start undoing buttons. 

Maybe he’ll never get a proper declaration of love, the mobster thinks, when reaching for his man in return. But then Jim had never been especially good with words either. He’s only good with actions and with pursuing his goals and never taking a step beside his chosen road. 

Lucky for him, Jim has chosen him to be his fate now.  


End file.
